A Cannon in the Wind
by Jalen Kun
Summary: "This game is punishing the districts and entertaining the Capitol. Why should we stop now? Why should we ever stop?" Welcome to the 5th Annual Hunger Games!
1. Prologue One

**Prologue One**

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**A Cannon in the Wind**;

_The 5th Hunger Games_

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**Luciferous Kronin, President of Panem**

It's the final three.

This year, the arena is a wide, spacious plains with practically nowhere to hide. The flowing grass beneath the remaining tributes is a bright green that almost distracts me from the blood stains. _Almost_. The girl from District 1 lies not too far away from the other two tributes, bleeding to death, a knife literally stuck in her back because of her conniving ally.

I chuckle. She was a fan-favorite, the District 1 tributes always are. I know the citizens of the Capitol were disappointed to see her go. With her soft blue eyes and her long flowing hair, she was the most attractive tribute this year—and she made it to the finale mostly because of the surplus amount of sponsors she received. It's a shame that she wasn't smarter; she should've known that the District 2 boy had always been a bit jealous of her.

After a minute or so, the girl finally stops fighting death, and her cannon _booms._

She lost the game.

And now, there are two.

The scrawny weakling from District 3 looks at the boy from District 2 incredulously, horrified that he'd suddenly kill his ally. I scoff at that. Why _wouldn't_ he kill his only real competitor and ensure his victory?

Sometimes, you just need to throw aside your humanity and fight, before you're eaten up. The knife in the District 3 boy's hand is suitable for killing, yet he won't use it. Tributes like him will never truly understand that the only alternative is their body on the ground and their cannon in the wind.

It's child's play, so why don't they get it?

The small boy tries to run, but the brute from District 2 immediately gives chase. Because of the nerdy boy's intelligence, he made it far—_too_ far, I would say—but it's as good as over now.

The older boy tackles the younger one to the ground, the child screaming all the wild. I roll my eyes. _Oh goodie_, I think sarcastically, _he's the screaming type._ It's only been a few years, and yet I'm already tired of the screaming tributes. Why can't they just accept death as it is?

Or better yet, why not actually _fight back?_

The District 3 boy doesn't hear my thoughts, and even if he did, I doubt the result would change. The District 2 boy holds the screaming child on the ground and sneers. Sneering at the complete domination, sneering at the idea of pure and utter victory. I smile, because _he's_ had the right idea from the beginning.

His only real competitor was the District 2 female, and he made sure to kill her off very early. The District 1 duo were fairly competent, nothing special besides the fact that they were the best-looking tributes. They were unintelligent and arrogant, though—most of the District 1 tributes are. I doubt they'll ever be anything more than pretty faces in the Games.

_Still_, I muse, half-heartedly watching as the District 3 boy begs for his life. _They don't usually have that I-Hate-the-Capitol aura about them. Maybe I'll help them out, give them a training center like District 2? The Capitol citizens would love for an attractive District 1 tribute to win for once..._

District 2 sided with us during the war, so they were rewarded with a training center to train for the Hunger Games and—obviously—a higher chance for one of their tributes to come out a Victor. And when a tribute comes out the arena as a Victor, their district gets an extra dose of food and money.

At least one child from District 2 will die, but they don't both have to. Not like District 11 or 12.

My attention flickers back to the screen, and I'm not surprised at all to see the District 2 boy on his feet, grinning victoriously at the camera. The screen settles on Arsen Mackenzie—the Victor of the 4th Hunger Games—and slowly flicks over the arena. The District 1 female lies on her side, the knife still inside of her back. The male from District 3 is lying not too far from the cheerful victor, his nose gruesomely punched inside of his head.

The camera flickers over to Arsen one last time before the screen goes dark, and the holographic video player on my desk powers off. I smile, remembering how satisfied I was with him winning almost a year ago. He played the game perfectly; he entertained the Capitol; he punished the other districts for rebelling.

That's the type of Victor I want. That _is_ the entire point of these games, right?

A knock at the door breaks me out of my thoughts. I sit up straight, putting on the best stern face I can muster.

"Come in," I call out, and immediately my mahogany door opens to reveal a short, elderly man with tan folders in his wrinkled hands.

"Good afternoon," my Head Gamemaker, Antonius Lavel, greets.

He closes the door behind him, gently, and I relax my features to a friendly smile. To anyone else, I have to look powerful; I have to look like the President of Panem. But Antonius is the person that decides what the arena will be, and all of the components affiliated with the Hunger Games is his responsibility. Without his intelligence and quick thinking, the Capitol wouldn't have a new Hunger Games to fawn over every year.

And that would be incredibly boring.

So I treat him like how I'd treat my best friend; I smile, I joke around, I show him the real side of Luciferous Kronin. Fear is a perfect way to gain control, but so is healthy encouragement. Antonius hasn't bored me yet, so I'm thinking he'll be my best friend/Head Gamemaker for a long, long time.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, sir," he says, and I nonchalantly wave him off.

"Nonsense. I was just watching last year's Hunger Games, actually. It was a great success, as usual, Mr. Lavel." My cheery demeanor seems to break him out of his boring shell, because he smiles.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, sir." Antonius stares at me for a few seconds, something in his eyes that I can't read, before he motions at the files on my desk. "These are the list of ideas, muttations, and blueprints we have created for this year."

My eyes flicker down to the brown folders, before they look back up at him. "I don't need these," I say, still smiling. "Haven't I told you before? I want to be surprised, just like everyone else. It's not fair if they get all the fun and I don't, right?"

For the fifth year, my Head Gamemaker looks exasperated. "B-But sir, what if the arena, or the mutts, or _something_ is not as you wish? Can't you at least—?"

"**No**, I can not." For a split second, I'm seeing red—but then that second is over and I'm smiling again. "Sorry, Mr. Lavel, but I want to be surprised by your designs just like everyone else. It's not a fun game if I already know what'll happen."

He looks down, quickly taking the papers off of my desk. "I see..." Antonius gets up from his seat and walks to the door, and I almost laugh at him. He's an excellent worker, but he takes his job too seriously sometimes. He doesn't see the Hunger Games as entertainment, and that's sad. That's really, really sad.

The Games are supposed to be fun, but he's acting like it's a boring chore. I know people that'd literally kill for his job.

_Maybe, like District 1, I'll treat him to something nice. But what would he want? A training facility doesn't seem like it'd be his cup of coffee..._

"Excuse me, sir."

I blink, flying back to reality. "What is it now, Mr. Lavel?"

He fidgets under my stare, finding the floor extremely interesting. "...Don't you think this is enough? The Hunger Games, that is. More than ninety-two children have died. Hasn't the districts learned their lesson? Hasn't the Capitol had enough?"

I laugh.

Like, I literally burst out laughing until tears fill my eyes, until my stomach starts to cramp. When I'm done, Antonius looks perplexed—but I don't care. That was hilarious!

"That was a funny joke," I remark, shooing him out of my office. "Get out of here, old man, before you _kill_ me!"

Antonius looks disappointed, but he leaves my office anyway. I raise a brow, wondering why. Was he serious just then..?

I snort, shaking my head. _Of course not_. These Games are punishing the districts and entertaining the Capitol. Why should we stop now?

_Why should we ever stop?_

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**The tribute form can be found on my profile, including the rules and the deadline.**

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**Heya everyone! This is my first HG fic, and it's an SYOT too, meaning you can all submit your own tributes for me to write and gruesomely kill! Yay! :D**

**I've done something like this, but for another fandom, so I'm not entirely new to the idea. I've been in the HG business for a while now, just in the shadows, but I've recently been making tributes like crazy and submitting them to various SYOT's...so some of you may have seen me. **

**Anyway, I'd love to try my hand out at an SYOT, because I love reading them. So yeah, that's why I doing this right now. I am kinda new to this, so please be kind in the reviews (if I get any ;-;).**

**As I said above, the submission form, rules, and due date are all on my profile, so please check them out. And I should say it right here, right now: _NO SUBMISSIONS THROUGH REVIEWS! _**

**With that being said, please submit your tributes! I'm really excited for this! ^_^**


	2. Prologue Two

**Prologue Two**

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**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The 5th Hunger Games_

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**Antonius Lavel, Head Gamemaker**

After this year, over one-hundred innocent children will have been killed by Panem's newest drug, by Panem's newest evil.

_One-hundred. _

_Innocent children. _

_Dead. _

And I'm the main one to blame.

I didn't think it'd continue for this long, or even that I'd care so much. I accepted the job because my family needed the extra money—and, just like everyone else, I wanted revenge against the districts that "brought plague upon our land."

But revenge isn't sweet. And the only plague that's cursing Panem is the Hunger Games.

During the very first Hunger Games, I worked my ass off, completely invested in the idea of punishing the districts for killing countless Capitol citizens. I wanted them to suffer; I wanted them to cry; I wanted them to _bleed_.

I was so, so stupid.

The arena was a war-zone. Ironic, right? _They brought war to us, they ruined this land_—that's what President Kronin told me, and I believed every bit of it. So, as revenge, I'd let them have war against themselves.

_They'd know the pain we felt,_ I convinced myself. _They'll fight to the death, until only one tribute remains. That tribute will be the Capitol's example to never, ever fight us again. _This idea seemed golden to me, so I used it, embraced it completely. It wasn't supposed to be fun; it was a job, a duty that _needed_ to be fulfilled.

There were no deaths during the bloodbath, but I was alright with that. The tributes all went their separate ways, planning to survive this "stupid game" without giving us the satisfaction of watching them kill each other.

It was easy to set the muttations on them. Crows and vultures that tore out the tributes' eyes, hounds that ate the tributes alive, even rotting corpses that came back to life and strangled the tributes to death. It was horrific—and with every boom of the cannon, with every scream of a dying child, I realized something.

_This was wrong. _

The districts could've been punished in different ways. More humane ways. Hell, if we treated them right in the first place, maybe they wouldn't have rebelled in the first place?

But nobody but me thought of this. The Capitol citizens watched little kids die in sick entertainment, while the district citizens watched their children die in horror. And the one responsible? It was me.

It was _me_.

When the finale came around, the tributes were almost begging for it to end. And in response, the cheery, almost taunting voice of Aeliana Devrine came on.

"_Congratulations, remaining tributes, on making it this far_," she said, giggling childishly. "_If you want to go back home as the Victor of the 1st Hunger Games, then head back to the Cornucopia and fight for your life!_"

The tributes did as instructed...and instantly, they began brutally chopping each other to pieces. It was horrifying to watch teenagers charge at each other with so much hate, with so much animosity, with so much _fear_. And it was all my fault.

It was my fault, not theirs.

_I_ broke them.

The Games ended when Jewell Galamory from District 1 threw a knife at the boy from District 7, ending his life. Immediately I could hear the deafening cheers of the Capitol, cheering the girl for murdering a young boy, cheering the girl for tainting her hands crimson.

I felt nauseated at the amount of disgust I had—for them, for _me_.

I wanted to stop right then, but President Kronin made it pretty clear that if I bored or disappointed him, I'd have my head on a golden platter. He's become addicted to these Games, just like the rest of those fools. So year after year, I worked tirelessly, killing kids and even forcing them to kill each other.

Sometimes, I wished I was one of the tributes. Being gutted like a fish certainly felt better than doing the gutting, I realized.

This year, I'm going to kill again. This year, I'm going to make innocent children cry, suffer, _die_.

A tornado of emotions swell inside of me—and one day, I'm going to get blown away, without any way of returning.

Just like this year's tributes. In a gust of wind, they'll blow.

And then they'll die.

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**Before you see the tributes, I want everyone to know that this was HARD. Okay? Okay. This was a really hard choice, and if your tribute isn't accepted, I'm sorry. Truly, I am. There was a lot of competition, and these tributes right here should be the best of the best. I'll be messaging everyone that wasn't accepted shortly.**

**If your tribute, however, IS accepted...THEN CONGRATULATIONS! ^_^ I'll be messaging everyone that was accepted very soon. Once again, congratulations! :D**

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**The blog for this story is on my profile. Or, if you want, just copy and paste this link (without the spaces).**

_** acannoninthewind. blogspot. com**_

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**Tribute List**

**District One**

Male: Vesper Quinn, 18

Female: Adeline Callard, 18

**District Two**

Male: Kostos Sylett, 18

Female: Echo Woods, 17

**District Three**

Male: Tet Kender, 13

Female: Iris Logan, 12

**District Four**

Male: Caio Artelle, 17

Female: Ula Dylan, 18

**District Five**

Male: Michael Riverbee, 13

Female: Alexandra Fearn, 14

**District Six**

Male: Breno Harmont, 17

Female: Ceres Cantrell, 13

**District Seven**

Male: Daniel Church, 17

Female: Calla Mallow, 17

**District Eight**

Male: Zander Engres, 17

Female: Kaya Vause, 16

**District Nine**

Male: Terrance Vallier, 16

Female: Toren Ingalls, 15

**District Ten **

Male: Ricky Laris, 18

Female: London Tienna, 18

**District Eleven **

Male: Koda Samuels, 12

Female: Meeko Brighton, 14

**District Twelve**

Male: Eion Daltier, 18

Female: Isabel Abriani, 18

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**Once again, I apologize if your tribute is not accepted. Please don't hold it against me. But hey, now you already have a tribute to send to another SYOT! :D**


	3. Reapings Part One

**Reapings Part One**

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**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The 5th Hunger Games_

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**Aeliana Devrine, Hunger Games Interviewer / Announcer**

"You're on in..." The cameraman puts up three fingers, then two...and then...

Hot, blinding light hits me square in the face—but I'm more than use to it by now. I smile my cheery smile and wave at the crowd, just as the Capitol Anthem blares behind me. When it finishes, I open my mouth to finally talk.

"Good _morning_, you _beautiful_ people!"

The crowd goes nuts, as they do every year. Sometimes, I feel really, really proud of myself. Never did those other girls in school think that _I'd_ get chosen for such a wonderful career. Never did they think smelly Aeliana, pimple-faced Aeliana, crooked-teeth Aeliana would _ever_ be Panem's most famous star!

All it took was hard work—and a bit of sleeping around, but you know, _everyone_ does that to get up top.

Nobody calls me those humiliating names anymore. I don't smell bad; I have my own perfume brand! I don't have pimples; my beautifully crystal clear face is the envy of Capitolites everywhere!

I grin at everyone, showing off my sparkling white teeth. With a bit of surgery, my teeth literally _sparkles_. Never will I be said to have crooked teeth again; I made sure to have my personal dentist take care of _that_ problem.

All in all, I'm beautiful, amazing, a _star_. I'm _perfect_. And everyone knows it.

They all know it.

"Does everyone know what today is?" I ask, and they howl in reply. Of course they know. Anyone who gets up at eight o'clock in the morning to come to my private studio knows exactly what today's occasion is. "You all guessed it. It's Reaping Day! The most anticipated day _ever_!"

They all scream and hoot and jump—and I laugh. I laugh at their enthusiasm to finally see what kids will die this year. It takes a special kind of person to enjoy something like this.

And the Capitol is _filled_ with special people.

"Before we do that, though..." I swipe some of my yellow hair of my eyes. They catch the hint, _oohing_ and _awwing _at this year's newest design. This year, my hair is done up like a sparkling star, with ornaments adorning the interior to have it _shine_. "Aww, don't make me blush, everyone!"

I hide my face, pretending to be embarrassed—but I'm actually smirking behind my hands. Of course they love my hair. That's the best thing about me. Without my hair, I'd be hideous.

_Worthless_.

"Oh yeah." I look back up at the crowd, my apparent embarrassment completely gone. "We have a special guest watching the reapings with us today. Give a round of applause for Jewell Galamory, Victor of the 1st annual Hunger Games!"

The spotlight momentarily leaves me, and I use that time to massage my face muscles. Having to smile and act giddy for so long is more tiring than you could ever imagine. When the light comes back on, however, I'm joined by the beauty from District 1.

Jewell has on a light blue dress that sparkles in the spotlight, crystal clear heels made from real glass, and her hair is styled up in a nice ponytail. Not better than my hair—I made sure to let her stylists understand how annoyed I'd be if that were to happen—but still, it's pretty enough. The young Victor smiles at the crowd and even blows a few kisses, before looking at me and giving me a small smirk.

"Good morning, Aeliana," she says, her voice light. "I love the new hair. It must've taken a long time for _that_ idea to pop into your head, huh?"

I chuckle, swallowing the urge to tell this skank off. But if I did that, it'd ruin my image. And that's exactly what she wants. A little bit of rebellion that'll, just like always, _fail_.

"Yep." I agree with her, nodding like the sluts from her district. "I would've gone for the basic ponytail look—oh, but I wouldn't want to steal your thunder."

The crowd laughs at that—and she goes quiet, a bright red blush on her face.

_The District 1 reapings are about to begin, _the man from the control center says in my ear. I nod, discreetly turning off my miniature headset.

Once again, I give the crowd a grin. "Anyway, I have a hunch that the reapings are beginning! Let's watch, shall we?"

They cheer in response—and in the corner of my eye, I see Jewell clench her fists. I laugh. Even though she won, I bet she still can't shake away the fear of her Games. They didn't know what to expect at all. Even when she got reaped, the tears in her eyes were as clear as day.

The lights dim, and the giant screen behind me turns on. I roll around in my seat and prepare myself for the no-doubt attractive tributes from District 1—home of the official dim-witted sluts.

The first thing I see from District 1 is the decorations placed around the district square. The higher officials are up on-stage—the mayor reading the boring drawl of a treaty—while the children are all herded below into sections. Arrogant boys on one side, loose girls on the other. In contrast to the ribbons and "Happy Hunger Games" signs, they don't look too happy. But why would they? Odds are, these two tributes are going to die. They can try to appear pro-Capitol, but in the end, we all know their true feelings.

"...This is how we remember our past," the mayor reads, finally looking up from the white sheet of paper in front of him. "This is how we safeguard our future." A few children clap for him, and he goes to sit back down. And almost instantly, District 1's Capitol escort—I can't remember her name for the life of me—bounces up to the microphone.

"Good morning, District 1!" She greets. Her eyes are like a cat's, flicking back and forth _way_ too fast. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

A few more kids clap for her, but it's noticeably less than what the mayor had going on. She doesn't even seem to notice as her smile gets bigger.

"Well, now is the time for one attractive young man and one special young lady to be chosen for the _honor_ of representing District 1 in this year's Hunger Games." She closes her eyes and takes in a breath of air, as dramatic as ever. When she opens them once more, she grins. "Males first?"

I swear this lady is a real pervert, but that's beside the point. Before I can even _think_ of blinking, she's over at the male's bowl, digging her entire arm in. When she finally feels satisfied, she takes out a crisp slip of paper, laughing.

"And District 1's male tribute for the 5th annual Hunger Games is..." She opens the slip, extremely fast. I can just feel the tension in the district right now. Nobody wants to be reaped; nobody wants to die.

But two young children will. It's what they get for rebelling.

That's all there is to it. And I'll just be here smiling and flipping my wig—I mean..._hair._

"Vesper Quinn!" The Capitol escort looks up from the slip of paper and smiles, her eyes moving fast again. "Vesper Quinn, are you here? Come on up...please?"

There's complete silence down in the boy's section. The camera focuses on the crowd, trying to pick out this year's tribute. The boys' expressions range from sad to relieved to even smug. Stupid District 1 pricks.

But suddenly, there's movement. Roughly pushing past the other boys is a tall, attractive one. His eyes are light blue and practically _dares_ anyone to get in his way. Certainly not happy, that's for sure. His dirty blond hair is styled up in the annoying District 1 way—and when he gets into the aisle, we get a full view of his body. Strong-looking, but not _too_ strong.

Vesper calmly walks onstage and stands beside the escort—not smiling, not crying, not _anything_. He just looks off into the distance, his face passive but his eyes angry.

The Capitolites behind me all _ooh _when the camera closes in on his face. I roll my eyes at that. He's a real looker, sure, but I don't like my men coming from District 1. Thanks, but no thanks.

The escort looks completely taken over with him. "Y-You're Vesper?" She asks, and he nods, still not giving her any attention. "W-Well, that's fantastic! I smell the sponsors already!"

Half of them are going to be from her, but that's apparently beside the point.

Realizing that Vesper's not going to respond, she turns back to the crowd. "Time for the females," she says, a significant amount of enthusiasm gone. The escort quickly walks over to the girl's bowl and sticks her hand in, taking a slip out not even a second later.

...Is this lady bias or what?

"Adeline Callard!" The escort calls out, yawning a bit. "Please come up. Or don't. Your choice."

Immediately, there's chatter amongst the females. This one must be a popular girl, huh? Perfect, I _love_ dealing with those type of girls. After a few more seconds, the girls all seem to back away, leaving a tall blonde female separated from the rest. Adeline is skinny and well-dressed—actually, she's well-_everything_. I can tell just by the way her hair is combed and how her clothes are ironed that her appearance must be very important to her. Not the most attractive District 1 girl, though. We'll see how many sponsors she can pull off.

Adeline doesn't move immediately. She looks extremely surprised; mouth wide open, eyes wide open, completely frozen in place. After a few seconds, I guess she realizes that she's supposed to go to the stage, and she does so in a very controlled manner. Standing beside Vesper and her escort, she tries to pull off an emotionless look—but her eyes tell us just how much fear she's in.

The escort smiles at the crowd of children below her. "District 1, I present to you your tributes!"

The camera zooms in on the tributes of District 1. Vesper, his attractive face deadpanned, his gaze on something we can't see. If he were to actually smile, I think he'd get quite a bit of sponsors. And then there's Adeline, who's playing with her hands. Yeah, District 1 isn't looking too appealing...but they never do. To me, at least.

The big screen turns off, and the lights slowly start turning back on. I spin around in my chair and force myself to grin at the crowd of Capitol citizens.

"Wow! That was exciting, right?"

They cheer in response. Beside me, Jewell has on a totally fake smile, playing for the audience. I turn to her, starting the thirty minutes of time waiting for District 2. This is honestly the worst part of Reapings—but it's my job, so I shouldn't complain. Much.

"Well, Jewell, I'm sure the Capitol would love to know your feelings on this year's District 1 tributes." I twirl my hair as I talk, studying her face. I know she hates this part, too, which makes me like it just a bit. "So what do you have to say about Vesper and Adeline?"

Jewell smiles that plastic smile of hers. "Vesper seems like he'll be a really strong competitor, don't you think? Coupled with those looks of his, I'm almost positive he'll be the powerhouse of the Games." She looks over at the crowd. "So make sure you all sponsor him, okay?"

The crowd nods and cheers, and her smile grows. I prevent myself from scowling. _Little manipulative whore. Already snagging your tribute some extra points, aren't you? Well, I won't have that. _

"You do have _two_ tributes to mentor, remember?" I say. "What about Adeline?"

Her smile doesn't falter, I'll give her that. "I admire her ability to stay strong during the Reapings, because we all know how emotional some tributes get. I think that she'll be a really amazing tribute, probably even the Victor!"

I snort. _Of course she's gonna say that_. "I guess you're right. We all know how a _certain_ District 1 Victor reacted when _she_ was reaped." The crowd laughs, and for a split second, Jewell narrows her eyes. But showing anger would be bad—_extremely_ bad—so she turns that scowl into a half-assed smile.

"Well, the thought of representing my district made me a bit emotional." Jewell laughs, but every syllable she utters is filled with hate. "Anyway, Vesper and Adeline will both be fun to watch, so I really hope the Capitol treats them well. You too, Aeliana." Her fake smile turns into a very real smirk. "We all know how you like to ramble during the interviews. Try to give the tributes a bit of the spotlight this time, okay?"

The crowd laughs again, and it takes a whole bunch of willpower not to spit at this dress-wearing bitch.

"I'll try," I say, forcing a laugh. "Anyway, back to the tributes..."

We chat for a bit more—throwing shade whenever we can—until I get word that the District 2 Reapings are starting. I quickly inform the audience, they cheer in excitement, the lights dim, and the big screen flashes on.

Just like District 1, the citizens of District 2 have decorations placed around their square, and even some on the Justice Building. Not as extravagant as District 1, but I can actually _feel_ the appreciation towards the Capitol in this district.

They didn't rebel. We gave them a training center. Now, even if a tribute from District 2 is reaped, they'll be prepared. They'll have an upper hand compared to the slobs from District 11 or 12.

And it shows—hence the reason they have two Victors.

"Happy Hunger Games, District 2!" The Capitol escort is as bubbly as the one from before. It's probably in their job description. "I'm here, as you all know, to choose the very _best_ tributes that'll compete this year! Are you guys excited? _I'm_ excited!"

She rattles on a bit more, trying to lighten the mood with jokes. And because nobody in this district is particularly scared, she actually gets a few chuckles. Not much, but it's a lot more than what other escorts get. District 2 is a special case, a case the Capitol appreciates.

"Well, I think it's about time we get started. But don't worry, I'll have even better jokes next year!" The escort walks over to the female bowl, completely pleased with herself. Last year, I explicitly remember that she had a severe cold, and couldn't be as lively as she wanted. She's really making up for it this year.

She grabs a slip from the female bowl and walks back over to the microphone, no rush whatsoever. She also has a way with building up tension, which is also really appreciated here in the Capitol.

"And the female representing District 2 in the 5th annual Hunger Games is..." She opens the slip, tantalizingly slow. "...Echo Woods! Can Ms. Woods please come up?"

I'm expecting someone to volunteer like last year—but none of the girls move, or shout, or even _look_ like they want to volunteer. I guess the female tribute's death last year—being violently hacked down by her own District Partner—unnerved them enough to give up the option of fame and fortune.

And that means Echo Woods, whoever that turns out to be, will be this year's tribute. How lovely.

I just hope it's not some boring twelve-year-old.

In the female section, there's instantly commotion up front. The girls all back up, letting a fit-looking girl walk to the aisle. Echo has fiery red hair that's curled down to her back, and her piercing brown eyes give me the impression of a really tough girl—even if she _was_ reaped. Her expression is closed off, however, as she walks to the stage. But when she gets onstage, she gives one of the cameras a...surprisingly pretty smile.

"I'm Echo Woods," she says into the microphone, practically shoving the escort out of the way. "Victor of the 5th Hunger Games."

The audience behind me all start whispering to each other, impressed with her confidence. Overall, a beautiful girl coming from District 2 with confidence that's actually convincing? I may be wrong, but she can definitely gain plenty of sponsors if she plays her cards right.

To my right, Jewell looks really unimpressed—but what does _she_ know?

"No! Echo!" The camera dips back down to the female section. Causing quite the commotion is a pretty dark-haired girl, a worried look on her face. "Please, don't do this!" She turns around, towards the other girls. "Someone please volunteer! Please volunteer for Echo—you _have_ to!"

But nobody moves. Actually, most of the girls seem amused at her frenzied behavior. When the camera shoots back up to Echo and the escort, the red-head still looks deadpanned—although she _is_ avoiding the other girl's gaze. _What_ is going on here?

After the dark-haired girl is subdued by Peacekeepers—albeit rather gently—the escort goes over to reap the male tribute. She picks up the slip of paper and opens it, but before she can even _read_ the name, someone interrupts her.

"I volunteer!"

The camera shoots away from the escort and dips into the male section, searching for the volunteer. Behind me, the audience starts to murmur, and even _I'm_ scooting up in curiosity. While I may not like District 1, I _do_ have a thing for District 2.

An older-looking boy with blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin runs into the aisle and then climbs onto the stage. My eyes widen at that. What an entrance! Not even panting, the volunteer turns around and gives the escort a cheeky smile that has the female members of the audience literally falling to the floor. He's pretty tall and slim, and his hair is ruffled in a way that's childishly attractive.

"Hi," he says, gently taking the microphone from the stunned escort. "I'm Kostos Sylett." He glances at Echo and smirks. "Victor of the 5th Hunger Games."

The screen shuts off, and the lights turn back on. Spinning around in my chair, I don't have to force the smile from creeping on my face.

"Wow!" I exclaim. "Now _that_ was something! I think District 2 has really outdone themselves this year, right?" _Way better than District 1, _I want to say, but as an interviewer, I can't be bias. Well, not much. Spiting Jewell would really make it worthwhile, though.

Speaking of her...

"Yes, I think District 2 has some really strong competitors this year..." Jewell trails off, that fake smile of hers present. But then, for some reason, she starts talking again. "Even though Echo didn't volunteer, it felt as if she was ready to partake in the Games already. And Kostos, volunteering and all, is definitely going to be interesting. I think they have two well-versed tributes."

I nod. For once, she isn't spouting nonsense. "Yeah, and what about the commotion in the female section? Echo looked uninterested, but that black-haired girl _had_ to have been acquainted with our female tribute. Your thoughts, Jewell?"

"Must be best friends—they didn't look similar enough to be sisters." She crosses her arms, smiling at me. "The female section didn't look too happy when Kostos volunteered, though. It was really hard to see, but a lot of them had a really disappointed look on their faces, some even downright astonished!"

"Yeah, I saw," I lie, coughing a little. Honestly, I didn't notice that at all. "Maybe they were expecting someone else to volunteer? I can't imagine Kostos being friends with _all_ of those young ladies." _He isn't like you District 1 sluts,_ I want to say, but I gulp that right back down.

"Maybe he is. Someone attractive like him must be really popular with the ladies." Jewell turns to smile at the crowd. "What do you all think?"

The audience all voice their opinions, and that's when I get word of District 3's reaping. District 2 had a longer reaping than most, so thankfully I didn't have to talk much. I inform the crowd of the next reaping, they cheer, the lights dim, and the screen flashes on once again.

District 3, unlike the first two districts, don't have any decorations plastered about. It's to be expected, though; they hate the Capitol, just like most other districts. All I see when the camera shows us the children are pale faces and moody expressions. It's sorta sad, really. If only they'd win just one Hunger Games, then maybe they could finally get in the spirit?

Doubtful, but still.

"Salutations, District 3," says the usual Capitol escort. She tries to sound smart for our smartest district, but she usually just ends up making a fool of herself. Still, it gives the Capitol citizens a laugh—and that's the entire point, right? "Just like always, I will be selecting the female tribute first. It is only suitable, correct?"

Nobody responds. They all just stare at up her in hate and depression. Still, she doesn't acknowledge the lack of enthusiasm, and goes over to the female bowl to condemn a young girl to death. She grabs a slip of paper, goes back to the microphone, and...

"Iris Logan!" The escort calls out. "Please allow yourself to—"

"_No!_" A shriek comes from the female section. All the way in the back. _Just great._ Instantly, the other twelve-year-olds back away from the reaped girl. Realizing that she was just called up, and that she's going to die...Iris collapses to the ground and sobs. Loudly. "No! No, please, _please!_"

The Capitol audience behind me stay silent, probably disappointed, while Jewell has a hard look on her face. She catches me staring and narrows her eyes, while I simply smile.

The Peacekeepers are upon the girl in seconds, literally dragging her crying form to the front. They toss her on the stage—pretty roughly—and walk away...and Iris does nothing but stay sprawled on the ground and cry. It's sad, really, but there's nothing to be done. If there's anyone to blame, it's her district for fighting back and causing this strife.

"Well..." The escort looks torn for a moment, but regains her composure pretty quickly. "Next up is the male tribute. Please try and represent your district better than Ms. Logan..."

She goes over to the male bowl, grabs a slip, and walks back over to the microphone. I can just _feel_ the tension in the audience, hoping that the male is some strong, sexy eighteen-year-old. And even in the district, I can feel their fear. They don't want to be reaped; nobody wants to die.

"Tet Kender! Please come up, sir!"

There's a bit of a pause when the escort calls the kid up. The crowd of boys don't even isolate the kid like how the girls did with Iris. For a good moment, it's like there's...no reaction.

And then, I see the littlest bit of moment. That's good; they didn't have to leave him alone for him to walk up. The bad news is that, like his little district partner, he's a small child. Thirteen-years-old at best.

Tet walks down the aisle slowly, a perplexed look on his young face. He's average height for a kid his age—maybe a bit taller—and really thin. His hair is light brown and wavy—and when he makes it to the stage, the camera focuses in on his face, showing us his light green eyes. He still looks really confused, and when the escort asks him how he feels, he acts like she's not even there.

The camera pans in on Iris again. She's a really pretty little girl, with her brown hair and young face...but she almost looks malnourished. She's not sobbing anymore, thankfully, but she's still on the floor, whimpering.

The escort looks at her two tributes and sighs. "Here you go, District 3," she says, dropping the smart voice. "Your representatives."

The screen clicks off, and the lights turn on. Once again, I spin around and force what must be a weak smile.

"Well..." I trail off, trying to find _something_ to say. Unfortunately, I can't think of anything...

So Jewell pipes up. "District 3 always produce intelligent tributes," she says, that fake smile of hers right back on. "It doesn't matter that they're young. I think, if we just gave them a chance, they could turn out to be something we'd never expect."

_Doesn't matter what they turn out to be, _I think, slightly irked at the fact that she's trying to one-up me. _They'll just end up dead, and you know it, Jewell. Why are you giving all of these nice comments to tributes other than yours in the first place?_

"It's kind of hard to see one of them actually winning, though," I say. "Nobody younger than fifteen has ever won before, so you can't blame us for being skeptical."

"Be skeptical all you want, Aeliana; I'm not telling you to _bet_ on them or anything." Jewell's retort gets a small laugh out of the audience. God, I can't _wait_ until she leaves. "I'm just saying, it's harsh to view tributes on their appearances rather than what's on the inside. For example, if I were to randomly see you on the street, I'd think you were some sort of clown!"

_A clown?! _I feel my face burning hot while the Capitol audience gets a real hoot out of her stale joke. _This… This tramp… She did __**not**__ just call me a clown!_

"See? Doesn't feel too good when it happens to you, right?"

The audience continues to laugh, and all I can do is stare at Jewell in disbelief. I want to wrangle her neck; I want to beat her head in; I want to throw her back in the arena and watch her burn! But… But I stay calm, if only for the billions of cameras recording every moment of our conversation.

But she'll get hers. I promise she will. If I can't get her personally, I'll do it in other ways. I'll make sure her tributes never get a single sponsor! For as long as I **LIVE**, dammit!

District 4 is starting. I hear the man in my ear, and somehow, I redirect my attention away from the District 1 bitch and back to the audience.

"Anyway, District 4 is about to begin, everyone!" I exclaim, my cheery facade back on. "Are you as excited as me to see some wonderful tributes?"

The audience voice their agreements, just as the lights dim and the screen flickers on. I spin back around to get a good look - but I make sure to give Jewell a dirty look beforehand. Just like how I did to her, she simply smiles.

_Stupid District 1 who-_

"Welcome, District 4, and Happy Hunger Games!" The escort this time is a male, in contrast to the ones before. I don't recognize him, though; he must've replaced the lady from last year. Trying to feel clever, the escort has a fake trident in his hands, and his shirt is purposely torn. "This year, I'd like to reap the boy first. Is that okay?"

Nobody answers him. District 4 has a few little decorations placed around, but it's really nothing to call home about. The kids, while mildly attractive, are also pretty moody and depressing to watch. So the camera cuts away from the kids and goes back to the escort, who now has a white slip of paper in his hand. One person in his hand.

"And the male tribute for the 5th annual Hunger Games is…" The escort unwraps the paper, skims over the name, and then nods. "Sorry if I pronounce this wrong, but can Caio Artelle swim his way up here?"

"_Shit!_" The camera dips down into the boys' section, and I exhale in relief when I realize that the boy is one of the older ones. The other kids step away from Caio, who just stands there, completely unmoving. His eyebrows are furrowed; he looks like he's thinking pretty hard, which is weird, considering most people end up walking to the stage with tears in their eyes.

When Caio continues to make no move, the Peacekeepers take things into their own hands. They move for him - and when one of them grab his arm, he shrugs them off and gives them a look of pure disgust. Surprisingly, they just watch as he puts his hands in his pockets and slowly walk to the stage, his brows still furrowed.

When Caio finally gets onstage, the camera zooms in - you know, to see if he's sponsor-worthy or not. And thankfully, I think he is. Caio is tall and handsome, and his skin is darkened due to always being in the sun, probably. His hair is an unruly mess, a mixture being straight and curly, and his dark brown eyes are almost calculating. With the addition of him being big and toned, I think this District 4 male can really pull off quite a bit of sponsors.

"Well, things are looking good!" The escort smiles at Caio, waving his trident around. "I bet you can't wait to swing this thing around in the arena, right? Here, hold it, show us how you'd look."

Caio glances at the escort, almost scowling. "I'd rather not."

The Capitol escort frowns for a split second, but then his happy-go-lucky smile comes back and he goes over to the female bowl. "Suit yourself. I'm sure your District Partner would love to wield such a mighty weapon." He sticks his hand in and picks up a small slip. "Speaking of your District Partner. The female representing District 4 will be…" He opens the slip quickly, apparently not one for dramatic pauses. "Isla Dylan! Please come up!"

The female section parts without much protest, leaving a young blonde girl by herself. She gapes, looking around in shock - but there's nothing anyone can do to save her. It's sad, too, because she can't be any older than fifteen. Not the best, tribute-wise, but it could be worse.

"No!" A shriek of defiance comes from all the way. The camera pans away from our female tribute to an older blonde running down the aisle, a worried look on her attractive face. "I volunteer! I volunteer!"

The Capitol audience all start murmuring behind me. Jewell makes a face, but I'm grinning at the screen, wondering _who_ this older girl is and just why she volunteered.

The camera focuses on the older blonde, the other girl completely forgotten. The volunteer has on a pretty white dress with brown sandals on, which is sure to get her sponsors. Her eyes are a striking grey, but her nose is a bit funny-looking for some reason. The volunteer has tan skin, coming from District 4 and everything, and her limbs are long and lean.

The camera suddenly focuses on her right leg, though, and the audience behind me gasps when they see the burn marks. It looks horrible! Now that it's caught my attention, I can see how she limps a bit on that leg. Definitely won't help her during the Games, that's for sure.

The volunteer slows down a bit, her face contorting to something unreadable...but when she looks back at the female section, she climbs the steps to the stage and takes her place next to the escort.

"Wow! That was some entrance!" The Capitol escort practically gushes over our female volunteer, giving her the microphone. "Please, tell us your name and the reason you volunteered!"

The volunteer grabs the microphone and scowls at the escort, silently telling him to back up. "Ula Dylan," she says, her voice softer than I thought it'd be. "And if you didn't realize it from my name, Isla is my little sister."

"Oh." He frowns a little, but then holds up his trident. "I'm sure you'd like to use this, though, right?"

Ula bites her lip, glaring bloody murder at her escort. Before we hear her response, though, the screen shuts off, and the lights turn back on. I spin around in my chair and glance at Jewell, who still has that unimpressed look on her stupid face.

"District 4 has some definite competitors this yeah, right?" I ask the Capitol audience, and they all voice their opinions. I glance at Jewell; I'm not letting her get the better of me again. "It seems that every district so far has topped District 1, though. What do you think, Jewell?"

"I don't think that's true." Her face is deadpanned; not happy, nor mad. "Vesper is definitely the strongest-looking one, and Adeline gives off a very special aura. As I said before, don't let first impressions guide you."

"But _come on_," I say, smirking. It's so cute that she wants to defend her little tributes. "District 4 had a strong-looking volunteer, and Caio doesn't doesn't look bad at all. And both of them have a little temper to them, which is always fun." Not fun for me, considering I have to interview these tributes - but I'm only saying this stuff to get on Jewell's nerves. And, by the way her face gets red, it's working.

"Whatever, you'll see first-hand just how _interesting_ my tributes are during the Games." Her face is still deadpanned, but the venom coming out of her voice is as clear as day. President Kronin will have a little word with her if she ends up losing her temper.

I laugh, motioning to the crowd. "No, we _all_ will see. Hopefully they don't disappoint." Turning to the audience, I smile my cheery smile and point to the screen behind me. "Anyway, that was only a _third_ of the reapings, and it's already getting heated up! I can't even imagine what the other tributes will turn out to be! Can you all?"

The audience give me their answer in the form of cheering. Of course they're pumped up. Four districts have passed by so far, and overall, I'm pretty pleased with the competition. Vesper and Adeline from District 1, Echo and Kostos from District 2, Iris and Tet from District 3, and Caio and Ula from District 4.

One of them could be the Victor, and yet, all of them could be dead in the next few weeks. That's what draws me in - the excitement, the drama, the adventure.

Twenty-four tributes, and only one Victor.

I love it.

* * *

**Well, I got this chapter out pretty fast, right? Haha, don't expect me to continue that. :|**

**Anyway, thanks for all of the reviews, and I hope to get many more in the duration of this story. ^_^**

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**For starters, I'd like to know how you all feel about Aeliana. Love her? Hate her? Please tell me in the reviews! **

**As for the tributes that appeared in this chapter, which ones do you like the best? Which ones don't you like? Which reaping was your favorite? Tell me in the reviews, yo!**

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**Next chapter, our lovely District 1 Victor will have to go, and the two Victors of District 2 will take her place. I don't know when the next chapter will be out, but hopefully pretty soon.**

**Bye-bye! ^_^**


	4. Reapings Part Two

**Reapings Part Two**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The 5th Hunger Games_

* * *

**Heloise Jones, Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games**

"You look fine." Arsen shoos me away, exasperated. "Sure, you don't look as good as me, and you're kinda old news now—but you're _fine_."

I look down at my black heels, a cloud of insecurity washing over me. I've always been a bit self-conscious. Always. And winning the Hunger Games didn't help. As far as I know, winning just made it worse.

"I'm sorry." I fidget uncomfortably in my tight black dress. People say that I've been blessed with an amazing body, but I just don't see it. "I— It's just hard, getting used to this...and I need your help, Arsen—"

"I _am_ the best person to ask," he interrupts, his attention more on the mirror in front of him than me. "But unfortunately, I don't have the time to turn on your lamp and tuck you in at night. I'm a Victor, and you need to start acting like one, too."

I look back up at him, my hands clenching—but then my gaze settles back to my little black heels. I should get mad; I should say something, _anything_ to defend myself against his verbal attacks.

But I don't, I _can't_. I was never an audacious person—but after my Games, I turned into something a lot worse.

A _killer_. A crazy, homicidal, shy little _killer_.

And Arsen... After he won the 4th Hunger Games, his already bloated ego skyrocketed. Even though I'm older than him, even though I won before him, he treats me like an annoying child. He's a killer, too, but he's accepted it, _embraced_ it—and he's living with it.

Something I can't do.

"I'm sorry..." I step back a bit, feeling the tears pepper my eyes. On the small screen next to me, the pair from District 3 are forced into the Justice Building. Two young children being forced by this evil society to fight for their lives. It's the worst thing anyone could do.

These people take away the youth of Panem and kill them on national television. There's nothing more cruel, nobody more horrible.

And I won these so-called _Hunger Games_. I did the Capitol's bidding and killed other kids—for fame, for fortune, for my own life over theirs.

What does that make me?

Arsen suddenly groans, jumping up from his chair and violently kicking it across the room. I flinch at the noise it makes, and then at the crazed look in his eyes. Arsen huffs, glaring at me.

"My hair doesn't look right!" He screams, turning around and swiping the beauty supplies on the floor. The glass containers all break and spill their contents; I flinch again. "They aren't going to take me seriously if my hair looks like a train-wreck!"

Just so you know, Arsen's hair is perfect. In every way possible. I don't see a single thing wrong with it—but apparently, it _doesn't look right_ to him. And whenever Arsen doesn't like something, whenever he gets the tiniest bit upset, he...

"**WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!**" He screams at me, grabbing a pair of clippers off the floor. It only takes a quick second for him to chuck it at me—and if I wasn't a Victor, if I didn't dodge a sword coming right at my neck during my Games, I'd be dead.

But I am a Victor, even if I don't like it, even if I feel like crying whenever I think about it.

I tilt my head to the left, and the clippers lodge itself right in the wall. _That could've been me, _I think, rushing out the room before he can do something worse. _That should've been me. It should've. _

I run down a dark hallway...but suddenly, I slip, falling and banging my head on the floor. The impact pains me to the core—but I'm use to pain, mental and physical. And right now, the mental pain is overpowering the physical.

I don't know how long I stay on the floor, trying to hold back my tears. I cry a lot, but I can't cry here, not in the Capitol. Every person in the world will be able to see and judge me here. If just one tear fell from their _darling_ Victor, it'd be on headlines everywhere. And I can't handle that.

I can't handle much, but I definitely can't handle that.

"Heloise!" I hear a Capitolite's voice—probably my stylist—and strong hands start to pick me up. I know those hands; I know how Arsen's hands feel. Whenever he goes crazy, they always seem to attract to my neck.

The Games broke him. When his District Partner threw a rock at his head, the impact clicked something horrible into place. The impact made him insane. His emotions are a whirlwind that don't stop for anyone.

Not even himself.

I open my blurry eyes, meeting my fellow Victor's brown ones. Arsen smiles that sweet, kind smile of his—like he _didn't_ just have a mini tantrum, like he _didn't_ just almost kill me. He helps me to my feet, while my stylist rattles on about the importance of getting ready and how Aeliana will be calling us up soon.

But I don't focus on that much. All I can think about is how stupid this all is, how wrong this all is, how much I just want to close my eyes and die.

_Heloise Jones, the depressed Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games. _

_Arsen Mackenzie, the bipolar Victor of the 4th Hunger Games. _

The ride will only get worse from here. It always does.

* * *

**Aeliana Devrine, Hunger Games Interviewer / Announcer**

_Now's the time for Ms. Galamory to leave, _says the man from the control center. For a second, his voice abruptly coming in my ear shocks me—but I don't let the surprise show. I'm a _professional_.

I'm the face of Panem! If _I_ can't mask my emotions on television, nobody can.

Not even this stuck-up Victor.

"Ah, what's this?" I blink, putting on a facade of innocence. Jewell gives me a look—no doubt she knows what's about to happen—while the Capitol audience all lean in, engrossed with every word I say. "Aww, I just got word that our Shining Victor has to leave! How _unfortunate_."

Jewell furrows her brows, pure irritation flashing in her cerulean eyes. She caught the sarcastic tone I used just then, but I couldn't care less. She could blow up the moon and I'd be perfectly content, just as long as I don't have to see her smug face anymore.

The audience all whine at my announcement. Of course they fell for her happy-go-lucky facade—but not me! The day I'm tricked by a District 1 _bimbo_ is the day the districts will win against the Capitol.

So never, basically.

I put up a finger, stopping the sad voices immediately. "But don't worry! Joining us next will be my two favorite Victors: Heloise Jones and Arsen Mackenzie, the two Victors from District 2!"

The audience's mood does a complete u-turn, going from depressed to excited in a matter of seconds. Jewell smiles that fake smile of hers, waving goodbye. She gets up from her seat—but suddenly, she turns to me.

"Goodbye, Aeliana," Jewell says, sneering. I bet she's ecstatic over the fact that she doesn't have to sit up here for much longer; _I'd_ be. "I hope you don't cause Heloise and Arsen much trouble."

I snort. _Of course_ she's trying to get the last word in. Last year, right before she left the stage, she mentioned how my hair design was tilting to the right. I was pissed about that for literally _weeks_.

"Don't worry, I won't. And hey, don't take this personally, but you should probably use a bit of mouthwash when you get back to your dressing room." I smile innocently, ignoring the laughing of the audience and her incredulous gasp. "I just don't want you embarrassing yourself, that's all."

The audience continues to laugh. Even as Jewell scowls and storms off the stage, clenching and unclenching her fists. I start laughing, too, completely pleased with myself.

I always get the last jab in. And I'm willing to hit below the belt and even lower if I have to.

It's just what you have to do if you want to stay afloat in this business. It might not be as tense as the Hunger Games, but it's challenging in it's own right.

I turn back to the crowd, grinning. The stage looks so much _better_ with that monkey-girl gone. The fact that I have to see and hear of her every year is torture enough, but to actually share a stage with Jewell Galamory is...equal to _death_.

"Anyway, District 5 should be starting their reapings now! I know Heloise and Arsen aren't here yet, but they'll be appearing right after this reaping concludes. So for now, you guys can pay attention to _me_ and _me_ only!" I spin around in my chair, giggling. Apparently, my exuberant attitude is contagious, because the Capitol audience all start laughing and grinning as well.

When the lights dim and the screen flashes on, we're all happy and ready for the _wonderful_ tributes of District 5.

Note the sarcasm. Their tributes are always lackluster at best...

The first thing we can see from District 5 are the power plants placed throughout the place. Considering they're the reason we have electricity, us in the Capitol _should_ treat them better...

But no-one really cares about that. Call us whatever you want, but it's hard not to be ungrateful when everything has always been given to us. The Hunger Games are a prime example of our power.

The escort for this district is also a male—but he's a regular occurrence, and he says the exact same thing every year.

"Good morning, District 5, and I hope it continues to be a good morning!" He says in that cheerful tone of his. "I'll be starting the reaping with the males, as usual, and we'll end it with the females. Any questions before I get started?"

If someone were to wipe a drop of sweat off their brow, I'd be able to hear it. That's how silent it is in District 5. They all probably despise this man—no, they all despise the _Capitol_. District 5 may not be as smart as District 3, or as rebellious as District 11, but even they won't submit to us peacefully. It's sad when you think about it.

I _do_ notice that there are a bit more Peacekeepers around than usual, though, and they're situated more around the females. Why is that..?

"Gotcha!" The escort exclaims, grabbing a slip from the bowl. If possible, things are even quieter as the escort walks back to the microphone. The tension is so thick that, even though I'm miles and miles away, I can _feel_ it. "And the male tribute representing District 5 in the 5th annual Hunger Games is..."

He opens the slip. The audience behind me all lean forward.

"Michael Riverbee!"

The same thing has happened in every district, and it doesn't seem to be stopping here. In the back—_of course_ in the back—the kids begin to slowly disperse and leave the reaped child by himself. Michael frowns, looking around at the various children—at the kids he _thought_ were his friends, who're now abandoning him to the snake's den. The escort calls his name again—and to Michael's credit, he walks into the aisle and up onto the stage without any Peacekeepers threatening him. Even as the little thirteen-year-old stands beside his escort, he doesn't display any of the usual bloodbath symptoms!

_This kid may actually be interesting, _I think, smiling.

And that's when Michael starts to cry.

I stifle a groan behind my hands, and the audience behind me all start frowning. _There goes his chance at decent sponsors, _I think, shaking my head.

"...Well, now for the ladies." The escort tries his best to ignore the crying child and quickly heads over to the female bowl. But before he can even stick his hand inside, a shrill scream breaks through the silence.

"I volunteer!" A young girl—probably fourteen or fifteen-years-old—pushes her way out of the crowd and calmly walks down the aisle. I blink, surprised, and the members of the audience all start whispering. A young girl from District 5 volunteering is...not at all what I was expecting.

The young volunteer has a confident aura about her as she walks up the stairs. But before she can greet the escort, however, a Peacekeeper suddenly stands in her way.

"What?" The girl demands, a scowl instantly forming on her face.

"Alexandra Fearn, you are not allowed to volunteer," the Peacekeeper responds, rather mysteriously. _He knows her name?_ I think, intrigued at the display.

For a second, fear crosses Alexandra's face—but it's instantly replaced with that scowl again. "And why not?" She challenges, not backing down. "The Hunger Games are a _very_ special event in Panem, and the rules state that anyone twelve to eighteen can volunteer if they want to. As soon as the words left my mouth, I became property of the Capitol. That means you have absolutely _no_ authority over me...nor my family."

The last three words are almost said in a whisper, but it gets the point across. The Peacekeeper slowly steps to the side, allowing Alexandra to walk by. By now, the Capitol audience are in a buzz of questions—and I am, too!

Who is this girl? Why did she volunteer at such a young age? And what was that whole ordeal with the Peacekeeper about?

"Well...is there anything that you'd like to say, Ms. Fearn?" The escort asks the girl, bringing the microphone closer and closer to her face.

Alexandra shakes her head, turning away from the escort and to the crowd. "No, there's nothing I'd like to say. Not to _you_, anyway..."

The camera cuts away from the escort's gaping face and zooms in to the two tributes of District 5. Michael has big fat tears coming out of his hazel eyes and running down his cheeks. His dark blond hair sits atop his head, swept to the side, and his skin is clean enough. A lot of these district kids take no care for their skin, so that's good. Michael is short and scrawny, though, so that won't do him any good during the Games. Unfortunately, my bloodbath senses are tingling.

Alexandra, however, doesn't give me that feeling. Her age may prevent her from getting that Victor's crown, but I definitely don't see a bloodbath in her. Alexandra has waist-length black hair, striking grey eyes, and pale skin. Just like her District Partner, however, she's short and thin—which also won't do her any good. She's really pretty, though. Couple that with the fact that she volunteered, and I can see some good sponsors in her future.

The last thing we see from District 5 are the two tributes walking into the Justice Building, the horde of Peacekeepers following closely. The screen shuts off, the lights flash on—and suddenly sitting beside me in their own chairs are the two Victors of District 2, Heloise and Arsen.

I fake a scream—_of_ _course_ I knew they would appear—while the audience members all gasp.

"Oh wow!" I exclaim, my hand over my heart. "You two came out of nowhere! Don't scare me like that!" The audience starts to laugh, and Arsen smirks at me.

"Well, we _did_ win the Hunger Games," he says, leaning back against his seat. "Isn't being stealthy a keen component?" His black hair is spikier than the last time I saw him, and his smirk is sexier, too. While his looks may not be as good as the District 1 idiots, it's good enough for me.

More than good enough, actually.

I laugh, wrapping a piece of hair around my finger. "I don't think you were that stealthy during your Games, Arsen. ActualIy, I believe you ran head-first into danger a whole bunch of times!"

He's the one to laugh this time. "Hey," he says, shrugging. "You gotta do what you gotta do. If you want to talk about stealth, though, Heloise is your girl."

The attention is instantly directed to our quiet Victor. Heloise smiles a small smile, waving at everyone when they start cheering for her—but she doesn't say anything. Only when Arsen nudges her playfully does she stutter out a response.

"W-Well, hiding out while everyone else is dying..." She trails off, her eyes looking off to the side. Remembering the memories of her arena, no doubt. "...it's better than killing others," she mutters after a while.

Arsen bursts out into a loud laugh. "You don't think we'll believe something like that, do you?" He asks her, to which she just stares. "Sure, you hid for a bit—and hiding is _lame_—but you definitely made up for it. How many did you kill? Four? _Six?_"

Heloise looks down, focusing on her pretty black heels. "Yeah," she whispers. "Six. I killed six ki—"

"It was like you were on a rampage!" Arsen interrupts, laughing. The members of the audience laugh along with him. "Seriously, though, it was awesome. Not as awesome as _my_ Games, but still, it was cool enough."

Heloise doesn't respond—and that's good, because even though Arsen is my favorite Victor, he can talk a _lot_. The quicker we get off that subject, the better.

I clear my throat, regaining attention. "Yep, both of your Games were amazing to watch! But unfortunately, that's not why we're here." I point to the blank screen. "You two watched the reaping just now, right? Your thoughts on District 5?"

Arsen and Heloise both give me a blank look, probably forming their opinions. After a few seconds, Heloise looks back down to her heels, and Arsen opens his mouth to answer.

"They were okay, I guess," he says, scratching the back of his head. "That Michael kid is going to die, definitely, and Alexandra might make it far, but not too far. District 2 is definitely stronger than them."

I chuckle. "That's nice to hear. What about you, Heloise?"

The female Victor looks up, frowning. "...Michael is small, meaning he may be fast. And if he's fast, then they can't kill him...right?" She looks down again, but continues talking. "I'd really like to know why Alexandra would...do something like that, though..."

"Volunteer?" I ask, and she nods. "Oh, yeah. I'd like to know that, too."

Heloise is a sweetheart, but she's too much of a sweetheart. Unfortunately, she doesn't see the Games like Arsen and I do. If she doesn't interact more with us, she'll stick out like a sore thumb—and I'm sure President Kronin won't appreciate that.

_District 6 is coming up, _I hear in my ear. Before Arsen can suddenly add his two cents, I put up a finger, stopping him.

"If my hunch is right, and they usually are, then I think that District 6 is starting their reapings!" I exclaim cheerily, laughing when the audience starts to cheer. "Let's watch it, shall we?"

I spin around in my seat, flashing Arsen and Heloise a grin. Arsen grins back, winking at me, while Heloise just looks back down to the floor. I know she's just a shy little thing, but it's really starting to annoy me...

_But don't worry, _I tell myself, waiting for the screen to flash on. _Nearly halfway there. Just watch the rest of these reapings, enjoy Arsen and Heloise's company...and then put up with that District 7 guy. But after that, I'll be done! Just a few more kids to be reaped. _

Just a few more kids that'll have to die.

As soon as the screen turns on, we're greeted with the sad faces of District 6. The children seem to have a depressing haze around them, while the officials onstage aren't looking too happy either. Overall, everything just looks sad and undesirable. Thank the heavens above that I was born here in the luxurious Capitol.

There's one colorful person that stands out, though...

"Hello, District 6!" The escort greets. She's a tall woman with bright orange hair and a smile that just won't quit. "I'm so, so happy to be here today! We didn't do so well last year, but I'll try my hardest to reap two strong tributes this year, alright? Okay then! With that being said, I'll try to be original and choose the male tribute first."

I snort. _Yeah, you and every other escort. Try again next year, okay?_

The escort hurries over to the male's bowl and sticks her hand in. She digs around for a good few seconds until, finally, she pulls out a little white card. Opening the card before she can even walk back to the microphone, she reads it to herself, and then nods.

"Breno Harmont!" She calls out, grinning that giant smile. "Come up and represent your district, sir!"

The camera searches through the male section, trying to pinpoint our District 6 tribute. The boys in the front—thank _Panem_, an older male—start to back up, leaving two boys by themselves. One of the boys, a determined look in his eyes, start towards the aisle—but the other boy grabs him by the shoulder and starts whispering something in his ear.

The Peacekeepers start to move towards them. But before they can get close enough, the boy that stopped the other boy from going—wow, that's confusing—puts his hands in his pockets and walks down the aisle, all the way up to the stage.

I blink. Okay, that was...kinda weird. I definitely need to ask this guy about that during his interview.

"And you are..?" The escort asks, to which the boy snorts.

"Breno Harmont," he says, smirking. "I _am_ the person you called up, right? Because if not, we can just act like this never happened..."

"No, you're the one I called." The escort smiles again. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Harmont!"

Breno nods, not saying anything anymore. He's holding the confident act pretty well, but that's probably all that's going for him. Breno _is_ pretty attractive, however. With his neat, dark brown hair, his stormy eyes, and his mischievous smirk... I guess a few people won't hesitate to sponsor him. That is, if he doesn't blow it by breaking down.

_...Please_ don't blow it.

"And now, for the girls!" The escort strides over to the female bowl, her orange hair blowing in the wind. "Let's pray for a strong female to match our strong male, shall we?"

She doesn't get a single noise of response—but I doubt that matters much to her. She grabs a slip, this time getting it from the top, and quickly opens it.

"Ceres Cantrell!"

This time, the camera focuses on the front of the female section...but nobody moves, or speaks, or makes any sort of reaction that they've been reaped. _Dammit_, I think, shaking my head. _Another brat. _The camera moves to the back, slowly...and that's when they find her. The girls around Ceres move away, almost shyly, leaving her alone.

Ceres Cantrell is a cute girl with mid-length black hair tied up in a ponytail. Her eyes are a dark brown, yet they don't display the innocence that girls her age have. The most eye-catching thing about her, though, is the fact that she's wearing blue jeans and a black hoodie. Every other tribute was dressed in something a little bit decent—but seriously? _Jeans?_

Ugh, district children...

Ceres looks around, shell-shocked, her mouth wide open. Better than crying, but still not a good first impression. Ceres just stands there, not moving a muscle—and that's when the Peacekeepers move. One of them grabs her by the arm and guides her to the stage, but half-way, she wrenches her arm away and climbs the steps all by herself.

"W-Well..." The escort doesn't know what to say. Calling her strong-looking would make her a liar, but saying anything else would be downright mean. So instead of saying anything to the little thirteen-year-old, she smiles.

Bruno snorts, looking the girl up-and-down. Suddenly, he cracks a small smile. "How lovely it is to meet my District Partner," he drawls. "Even though we'll be soon fighting to the death."

"It's _not_ so lovely to be meeting you," Ceres mumbles, her head down. And then the screen flashes off.

The lights turn on, and instantly, the Capitol audience is ablaze with their many comments. There's so many voices ringing out at the same time that I can't even begin to distinguish any of them, so I just chuckle.

"Well, that was interesting!" I say, grinning my fake grin. I swipe a bit of hair out of my eyes. "District 6 isn't looking too bad, I'd say. Breno looks strong and pretty charming, while Ceres is a little sweetie. What do you all think?"

Arsen answers before the audience can even _think_ to voice their opinions. "Breno doesn't look that strong. Definitely not stronger than me, _nor_ Kostos. And honestly, little kids like Ceres should just get out the way so that the older, stronger tributes can shine."

I blink. _Wow, no subtlety at all..._

"Well, that's an interesting opinion from our _vicious_ Victor." The audience gets a chuckle out of that; I smile. "What about you, Heloise? Don't let Arsen forget who's the elder here!"

Heloise looks up, a nervous smile planted on her face. For someone so beautiful, she's so insecure, and I just _hate_ that about her.

"Breno is nice. I do wonder what he was whispering to that boy about, though," she tells me, and the audience hums thoughtfully. "Also, Ceres was really strong. To be reaped at such a young age, and not shed even one tear..."

She trails off, looking back to the floor. But her thoughts were acknowledged, so that's good. I really do like Heloise, and I'm just trying to make sure she doesn't fade away.

She reminds me of myself a lot. Back when I was bullied by the other girls because of my skin, or my smell, or my hair...I always wanted someone to stick up for me. I can do that for Heloise. I can; I _will_.

"I think District 6 will really entertain us this year," I say to the audience. "Speaking of entertaining, did you all know that..."

We all continue chatting, bouncing off of each other with smooth precision. Arsen is a really good conversationalist, even though he somehow ends up bringing everything back to him or his tributes. And Heloise is already one of the audience's favorites, because of her Games, so anything she says will be taken nicely. And _I'm_ the star of Panem, so I could _fart_ and the audience would love it!

Before I know it, I'm receiving word of District 7's reaping. I inform the audience and spin in my seat, waiting for the lights to dim and the screen to flash on. Hopefully, District 7 doesn't end up disappointing me. For some reason, they always do. Even their Victor just irritates me.

The first thing the camera shows us are the vast forests around District 7. I guess they want some of the more ignorant viewers to realize that we _are_ in District 7 now, since they're so well-known for their axe-wielding tributes. The camera suddenly switches over to the site of the reaping, though—and just like District 6, District 7 is swallowed by a layer of depression. The boys aren't looking too sad—they look more irritated than anything—while the girls are practically biting their nails in anxiousness.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again. Nobody wants to get reaped.

Nobody wants to die.

These children may have a slight advantage against the others because of their experience with a weapon, but that doesn't do anything more than make them targets. Not to mention the Gamemaker traps, and the Arena itself...

Yeah, just being able to swing an axe around hardly helps, if you think about it.

"Welcome, District 7, to the reaping for the 5th annual Hunger Games," says their escort. She's a short lady with dark green hair and a very monotonous voice. I can't see her keeping her job for much longer. "You might not realize it, but I'm very excited for these Games. I hope you all can take some of my enthusiasm and use it yourselves."

I roll my eyes. _As enthusiastic as death. _

"Anyway, I'll be starting." The lady slowly walks over to the female bowl. It's so quiet that every step she takes reverberates throughout the place. Still taking her sweet time, she sticks her hand inside the bowl...and with no change in expression, she grabs a slip. "And the female representing District 7 this year is..."

She opens the slip. _Agonizingly_ slow. It's not even suspenseful anymore, it's just plain irritating.

"Calla Mallow," the escort calls out, deadpanned. "Please come up."

The camera shifts to the female section. In the back, the girls drift away, giving us access to the reaped tribute. Calla doesn't stand still like the girl previous to her, however. With her hands clenched and her eyes closed, she pushes her way past the girls and walks out into the aisle. When her dark green eyes open, I see fear beyond belief—but I also see acceptance and determination. She's been reaped for the Hunger Games, but she's not going to break down.

I like that. I truly do.

Better entertainment if the tributes actually fight back instead of crying, after all.

Calla makes it to the stage and exhales. The camera zooms in on her face, trying their hardest to find weakness of any sort—but there's none to be found, outwardly of course. Calla is a pretty tall girl with tanned skin and dark green eyes. She's wiry, too. Her light brown hair hangs in tight curls down her back, and her face is filled with freckles.

I wrinkle my nose at that. Here in the Capitol, freckles aren't considered cute, but more-so akin to a blemish. Calla isn't very pretty, though, nor sexy. As far as I can see, she might only get sponsors because she isn't on the floor crying right now.

The escort doesn't greet Calla, nor does she really even acknowledge her existence. She just walks right past the female tribute and straight to the male bowl, not saying a word.

I repress a groan. She definitely needs to be fired. _Quickly_.

"The male representing District 7 this year will be..." She grabs a slip, opening it just as slow as before. With the way she's moving, District 8 might have to air right after! "Ro—"

"I volunteer!"

My eyes widen. _Another_ volunteer?

The camera pans down, revealing a young boy rushing towards the stage. He's handsome, that much is clear, and the smirk on his face is nothing less than cunning. He's almost like the boy-version of Alexandra!

_Still, _I think, sighing. _Young volunteers are nice and everything, but... I'd rather someone older—_

"_I_ volunteer!" Suddenly, another body shoots out into the aisle.

I gasp; the audience gasps; Arsen and Heloise gasp—_everyone_ gasps as the young volunteer is roughly shoved to the ground, being replaced by an older male. The older volunteer quickly runs down the aisle and up the steps, a sad smile on his face when he reaches the escort and his District Partner.

"My name is Daniel Church," says the volunteer, carrying a weird accent. "And I volunteer for the Hunger Games."

I blink. Okay, _that_ was unexpectedly crazy.

The camera goes back down to the aisle. The younger volunteer—or I should just call him a boy now, because he lost that chance—stares up at Daniel in complete and utter shock. Now that I think about it, they look alike. They look _very_ similar, actually.

The camera goes back up to Daniel, and the audience behind me all _ooh_. I roll my eyes. I guess he's attractive. His features are sharp and handsome, while his dark hair reaches just past his eyes. His eyes are a dark brown, almost black—and I'm almost captured by the emotion hidden behind those dark orbs. Lastly, he's thin and tall, taller than most tributes we've seen so far. If he plays his cards right, I think he'll stand a very good chance!

We get one last glimpse of District 7's tributes—Calla Mallow and Daniel Church—before the screen turns off. The lights flash on, I turn towards the audience...

But before I can start talking, there's static rushing in my ear.

_District 8 will be coming up very shortly, _the man from the control center says. _Make whatever you have to say quick. _

I feel like groaning, but I stop myself, instead rolling my eyes. _Of course_ that wretched escort made District 7 take forever. I seriously detest her.

"Fortunately for us, District 8 will be starting really soon!" I tell the audience, and they hoot in response. "I know, I know. Awesome, right? But we still need to take a few minutes to discuss District 7! So, I'll be letting Heloise lead this discussion!"

Once again, all of the attention diverts from me to our darling Victor. Heloise looks up from her shoes, a shy smile on her face once again. I expect her to not say anything...so I'm really surprised when her mouth opens to comment.

"Calla might not be the most interesting tribute so far, but it's really admirable that she could walk onstage without a single tear. She hid her emotions and represented her district splendidly..." Heloise lets out a breath of air, her eyes wet and her cheeks flushed. "And that must've been his younger brother Daniel volunteered for. I don't know why his younger brother was trying to volunteer, or why Daniel ended up doing it instead...but..." She inhales, composing herself, and then continues talking one last time. "I wish them a..._Happy_...Hunger Games."

The audience cheers for Heloise, thinking her emotional exchange was full of love. But I know it's not. Working with both tributes and Victors, I've become accustomed to their mindset.

They don't like the Hunger Games.

They despise the Hunger Games.

Heloise's words were her trying to get across the fact that she sincerely feels sorry for Daniel and Calla. Because they'll both be dead in the next few weeks. Twenty-three children will, actually.

I smile, shushing the audience so I can talk. "Riveting words from our _darling_ Victor," I say. "But unfortunately, that's all we have time to hear, because District 8 will be starting soon! Let's watch!"

The audience members all start cheering and clapping again. They do that a lot, actually. I shrug, turning around in my seat and looking towards the screen. District 7 wasn't too bad, thankfully, and hopefully District 8 will be adequate, too.

I'm not asking for much, y'know? I just want tough kids to be reaped, so that the Games will have more fighting and bloodshed rather than hugging and tears. Is that so wrong?

The screen flashes on, and District 8's Justice Building is on full display. The Capitol escort is talking about something uninteresting, so I tune her out, instead focusing my attention on the children below. The boys and girls, just like the children before, are looking scared and depressed. District 8 is one of many districts that haven't yet gained a Victor, and I seriously doubt they'll be getting one anytime soon. Not when tributes from District 2 are in the Arena raising hell.

"Anyway, I think I've done enough talking!" Says the escort, a rather chubby lady with purple eyes. She's a regular in District 8, and I can tell from the way that the children glare at her that she's not very liked. "I know you're all just as anxious as I am to see this year's tributes, so I'll start already. But let me tell you, whoever gets reaped will _love_ the food."

I snort, while the members of the audience chuckle. _Fatass_.

"I'll start with the girl tribute, okay? Okay." Without waiting for a response—she knows full well that they'll never really respond to her—she walks over to the female bowl. She's pretty slow, but not as slow as the escort from District 7.

Quickly grabbing one small slip, one dead child, she walks back over to the microphone and reads the name.

"Kaya Vause!" She calls out, smiling. "As I said before, you'll _love_ the food!"

The females—somewhere in the middle—start to drift away, leaving a red-headed girl standing all by herself. Just like the female tributes before her, Kaya's face is the epitome of shocked. She steps out into the aisle, slowly, and starts walking. It takes her a long time to make it to the stage—but when she does, there's a sad yet accepting look in her eyes.

Kaya has red hair, like I said before, and pale skin. Her cheeks, however, are they're tinted pink. Her blue eyes have a wide look to them; she's actually a really pretty girl. Kaya is a bit short, though—thin, too, with long legs and skinny hands. If she doesn't break down and cry, I predict good sponsors in her future.

The escort looks her up and down. "Yep, you definitely need some food in you, girl."

Kaya doesn't give the lady a _smidgen_ of her attention. There's just silence as she stares out into the crowd, her face melancholic and her eyes a bit glossy. Sometimes, I feel sad for these tributes. They're leaving their homes, their families, their entire _life_ behind.

But then I think of the rebellion, and that thought quickly goes out the window. They brought this upon themselves; they deserve this.

Not at all offended by Kaya's silent treatment, the Capitol escort goes over to the male bowl. Grabbing one, she walks back over to the microphone and reads the name aloud: "Zander Engres!"

The boys—a bit more in the back, thankfully—all back away, leaving a red-headed boy standing by himself. Zander emulates Kaya's first expression, completely in shock. It's understandable, really. He's just been condemned to a horribly painful death, so of course he's shocked. Still, it's not a strong look—and the more he just stands there gaping, the more his could-be sponsors drift away.

After a while, the Peacekeepers grab him and drag him to the stage. He's stopped gaping, thankfully, but his eyes are widened in a totally astonished way. Zander is a tall boy with gangly, long arms. He has pale skin and light brown eyes that...look too big for his flat face, actually. Speaking of his face, there are multiple cuts around his eyes and mouth, for some odd reason. Yeah, if we were going by looks, I don't think I'd sponsor him...

The escort grabs Zander and Kaya's arms, holding them up—as if they really have a chance for victory.

"District 8, your tributes!"

The camera focuses on Kaya Vause, her eyes closed, and Zander Engres, his eyes wide. It stays on them for a bit more before it clicks off. The lights turn back on, and I spin around, smiling my blinding smile.

"Well, that was really exciting, no?" I ask the audience members, and they all voice their opinions on the tributes of District 8. "Yes, yes—I liked them, too. Both of them seem like strong competitors to me! But first, let's ask our two Victors what they think." I turn towards Arsen. "You first."

He smirks. "I guess I can see them getting far. District 2 would bend them like two little twigs, but still, they look strong enough."

I laugh. "You may be a Victor now, Arsen, but at least you haven't forgotten your roots!"

The audience laughs along with me, and the male Victor chuckles. "Well..." He shrugs. "I'm just stating the facts. Everyone knows that District 2 are always the best tributes in the Games."

I nod, still laughing. "I guess that's true! But Heloise, what do you think? Can District 8 compare to District 2?"

"...What?" Heloise looks up from her shoes, a hard look matching her watery eyes—and I can just _tell_ she's about to say something really _bad_. "These children... You're betting on them, _comparing_ them like..."

_Careful, _I want to tell her, frowning to get the point across. _Say anything more, and you'll find poison in your food. Just nod your head and act stupid, Heloise! Take notes from District 1 if you have to!_

"...I'm sorry." She looks back down, clenching her hands. "Both districts have strong, good-looking tributes. I wish them both the best of luck."

There's silence for a good few seconds...before I break it, grinning.

"Well, there you have it! Amazing words from Arsen Mackenzie and Heloise Jones, our two Victors from District 2!" I spin around in my chair, giggling like a District 1 fool. But the audience loves that, so I suck up my pride and do it. "Sadly, they'll both have to go now—but stay tuned, District's 9 through 12 will be commentated by me, the _amazing_ Aeliana Devrine, and Sylvan Barnes, District 7's _fierce_ Victor."

The audience members make sad noises at Arsen and Heloise's departure, but they start to perk up when the next Victor is mentioned. It's funny, really, how much these people love their Victors. Sylvan is a huge nuisance, but I just need to put up with him for a little while. He's not even the worst part, though; these last four districts bore me to absolute _death_. They're so poor and weak that I doubt they'll _ever_ get a Victor—but it's my job, so I'll do it to the best of my abilities.

Still, I'm very curious about this year's tributes so far. Michael and Alexandra from District 5, Ceres and Breno from District 6, Daniel and Calla from District 7, and Kaya and Zander from District 8. All eight of these children interest me in one way or another.

I smirk, holding back a laugh. All eight of these children could end up dead, too. Isn't that funny?

I think it it.

I think it's _hilarious_.

* * *

**Ah, another chapter out! Sorry for the delay, but I've been on a vacation of sorts, and I was unable to update. So...yeah. :|**

**Thanks a lot for the many reviews, though! All of them were so nice! I'll really try to keep writing to the best of my abilities, okay? Okay! ^_^**

**Still, this chapter was torture to write. I don't even know why, but I don't like it, and it was just **_**hard**_**. I think I finally understand why everyone seems to hate writing reaping chapters...**

**Anyway, I'm talking a lot, aren't I? Yeah. Umm...tell me in the reviews which reaping was your favorite, and even your least favorite. And tell me what you think of District 2's two Victors.**

**Hopefully I have the next chapter out pretty quickly.**

**And hopefully it's easier to write than this chapter, because ugh, I just can't...**

**^_^||| Bye-bye!**


	5. Reapings Part Three

**Reapings Part Three**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The 5th Hunger Games_

* * *

**Sylvan Barnes, Victor of the 3rd Hunger Games**

Quintavious, my bumbling idiot of a stylist, gives me a look that'd shatter glass.

"Do you not understand how important this is?" He asks me. For once, he's not taking my shit, and he's actually really angry. "Just please, for once in your life, do what I tell you to do!"

I scowl at that. I hate being told what to do, especially from any of these Capitol bastards.

"I'm _not_ one of your tributes anymore, and I'm definitely not a child—so I _don't_ have to do what you say." I puff out my chest, trying to intimidate my stylist just like how I intimidated the other tributes during my Games. Even though I was just fifteen-years-old, I had the body of an eighteen-year-old, and that was more than enough to tell the others not to mess with me.

And when the tributes from District 1 and 2 _did_ try to mess with me? I did the smartest, most sensible thing anyone in my situation would do.

I fought.

I _killed_.

I killed the District 1 duo—those idiots actually thought, just because they were allied with two powerhouses, that they stood a chance—and just managed to escape the tributes of District 2 before they could cut off my head. They found me again, during the finale—and I fought once again. I wasn't going to go down like the District 3 boy from last year, screaming and crying and _not fighting back_.

All my life, I've had to fight back. From Peacekeepers, from bullies, even from my own damn _parents_. If I was going to die, it'd be with my axe clenched tightly in my hands, and their blood spilled across the ground.

Luckily, the girl from District 2 slipped and stabbed herself in the chest with her own knife. And the boy from District 2, while he had definitely trained a bit before the Games, was no match for me by himself. I had been using an axe to cut down trees all my life.

Cutting down lives was just as easy. It was just a lot more aggravating.

"_Please_, Sylvan!" Quintavious pleads, the anger wiping off his face when he realizes that I won't be backing down. "President Kronin would surely kill me if I had you going out like..._that_!" He gestures towards my wrinkled t-shirt, my torn jacket, and my dirty jeans.

I cross my arms, shaking my head. "Do you seriously think I care what'd happen to you? You can shove those fancy clothes right up your—"

"_Please!_"

Somebody else would probably relent to his pleading and begging. After all, if I seriously went out onstage in these "district clothes," President Jackass really _would_ kill my idiotic stylist.

But I don't care. I seriously do not care. And why should I? These people, these _monsters _threw me in a jungle to literally fight for my life. There's nothing anyone could do that'd top the Hunger Games when it comes to sick, evil pleasures.

_I won, though. _

_I fought for my life, just like they wanted. _

Smirking at Quintavious, I look up at the ceiling in mock-thought. He smiles a hopeful smile, his rainbow colored eyes sparkling—but then I shake my head, disagreeing once again.

_It's time I make them fight for theirs, in one way or another._

* * *

**Aeliana Devrine, Hunger Games Interviewer / Announcer**

Almost done.

We're almost done.

_I'm_ almost done.

I just need to put up with four more districts. After that, I'm free to spend the rest of my day at reaping parties or whatever. I just need to put up with eight more soon-to-be dead teenagers; I just need to put up with that irritating District 7 Victor; I just need to fake a few more smiles, a few more laughs and giggles, and I'll be done.

I will be done.

Reaping Day is seriously annoying—when you're the one working, that is. What I wouldn't give to pop open a bottle of champagne right now...

_Commercials will be over soon. Get ready, Ms. Devrine, _says the control center man. I groan, my hands covering my face. The Hunger Games are _exhausting_.

Why can't we just round them all up and watch them kill each other? It'd be quicker, and still entertaining, and I'd have to work less.

Why do we have to pretty them up and have freaking _parades_ for them? I mean, sure, I guess they deserve something for their sacrifice...but they'll still be dead in the next week, so I hardly see the point.

And why do I have to freaking _interview_ them? Nothing they say will keep them alive. Most of the time, all they're doing is trying their hardest to curse me and everyone in the freaking Capitol...

Suddenly, the Capitol Anthem blares. I look up, immediately grinning my sparkling grin and waving at the audience and cameras both. It's tiring, having to keep up this bubbly persona—but I'm rich, I'm famous, I'm living the life I've always wanted. If I have to commentate on doomed children, then I'll do it with a pretty smile on my pretty face.

Sure, I'll bitch about it later, but whatever.

"That was a _long_ break!" I say to the members of the audience. They all agree in one way or another, either by nodding their heads or clapping or _whatever_ they feel the need to do. "But don't worry, because you know what? District 9 will be starting their reapings shortly, and I can tell that you're all ready to see them even more than _I'm_ ready to see them!"

I'm actually ready to go home and snuggle up in my bed, but I guess that's beside the point.

"So without further ado, let's meet the wonderful tributes of District 9!" I spin around in my chair...and immediately frown when the lights shut off. I'm worried that if I continue smiling like a District 1 idiot, my face will be stuck like that forever. And that'd be torturous, because a bitchy person like me being forced to smile forever is a bomb just waiting to blow.

The screen flashes on, revealing District 9 within them. The cameras close in on the fields of grain, blowing in the wind. There's plenty of factories, too, apparently for processing the grain. In the crowds are a surplus of children—more blond than anything else, I notice—and Peacekeepers surrounding them. Outside the Peacekeepers are the adults, all of them with worried expressions on their faces. Hell, some of them look even sadder than the children!

"...Thank you, District 9," the mayor says after finishing the treaty. "Please give a warm welcome for our escort, coming all the way from the Capitol."

There's no warm welcome—well, unless being warm means to glare up at the lady. The Capitol escort walks up to the podium, smiling, showing no concern for the hate being thrown her way. I like her, because she understands how annoying these disrespectful children can be, and she doesn't let them take control.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She begins. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor. As you all know, I always pick the ladies first—but not this time. You see, I've come to the conclusion that we keep losing because of this. _So_, I'm going to reap the male tribute first. Are there any questions before I start?"

There's silence in District 9, the boys looking even more worried than the girls now. I snort at that. It's very doubtful that District 9 has never produced a Victor _just_ because of which tribute gets reaped first. It's more than that—like how their tributes are hardly ever aggressive, or how living in that poor District can never prepare them for the Hunger Games.

Just like the districts after this one, the Hunger Games are a death penalty.

"No questions? Great! Then I'll start." The escort sashays over to the male bowl, looking every bit pleased with herself. She slips a hand in and takes a slip out, way faster than the ones before her. And just like that, there's one person she's condemned to death. Opening the slip as she simultaneously walks back to the microphone, she starts reading. "Terrance Vallier!"

There's a pause—but isn't there _always?_ The crowd of boys split open, revealing a sixteen-year-old boy with light brown hair. For a split second, his brown eyes are widened in disbelief—but just as quickly, they morph into an expression of pure indifference. I almost laugh at that. Look at him, trying to act tough for the cameras. Thankfully, though, Terrance isn't young, nor does he look like the type to break down into tears.

We'll see where that'll take him.

Terrance walks down the aisle and climbs the steps in an almost robotic manner. He's playing the strong act well, I'll give him that. But being from District 9, it's only a matter of time before his blood is on the ground and his picture in the sky. And yet, I don't see him as a bloodbath…

But I could be wrong. Surprising, but true.

"Well, I think I was right in my decision to pick the boys first! You're a strong-looking young man," the escort compliments, a big grin on her face. Terrance doesn't say anything to her, but at least he nods.

Her words are sincere, though. While not the biggest, he has mild muscles along his arms and legs. And he's pretty tall—well, for a sixteen-year-old. Add in the fact that he's not an ugly child, and I can see a few sponsors sponsoring him. He'll have to really impress me, though, because there's not much else interesting about him.

"Okay then, I better hurry and reap the girl before this good luck runs out!" The Capitol escort laughs, rushing over to the female bowl. Once again, tensions rise to an unimaginable level as she plucks a white slip out. A white slipped with a name written, a dead child written. She hurries back over to the microphone, opening the card before she can even make back. "Toren Ingalls! Come on up!"

There's silence. But yeah, that's expected. Nobody was talking anyway.

Yet, this silence is different. This silence is like a pause that's taking too long to end. There's nobody screaming, or crying, or _anything_! The females haven't even moved away from the reaped—

Suddenly, the camera latches on to movement, bringing my thoughts to a halt. The girls in the fifteen-year-old section start backing up, leaving two young girls in the middle. One of them has tears in her eyes, while the brown-haired one is just...staring at the stage, expressionless. What's up with _that?_

"Toren Ingalls? Is that you?" The escort coos, motioning for one of them to come up. "Don't be shy. We'll treat you really nice in the Capitol."

The teary-eyed girl starts to shake—and by now, I'm almost positive she's the one who's gotten reaped. But the other girl is still staring, albeit the worry is starting to show through the cracks. The Capitol escort calls for Toren once more—and that's when the Peacekeepers seemingly have enough with the stalling. They head towards them, and the teary-eyed girl whispers something in the brown-haired girl's ear.

Shockingly, the brown-haired girl nods, and she starts towards the stage. I blink, confused. So is _she_ Toren? The poor girl is shaking, I can see that much, but her indifferent expression is unbothered. The only thing close to real fear on her face is her wide, green eyes. As she climbs the steps and goes towards her escort and District Partner, the camera zooms in.

Toren's a pretty girl, I'll give her that much. She's thin, though, and her face is _full_ of freckles. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of green that's pretty uncommon for District folk; I find myself really liking them, and I can tell the others in the audience love them also. Here in the Capitol, we can have any eye color we want—but to be born like that puts you on a level above the rest.

Toren's short stature won't help during the Games, though. Her hair is a dark brown, long and wavy and _thick_. Pretty messy, too. Just like her District Partner, she'll also have to really impress us if she wants decent sponsors.

The screen flashes off and the lights turn on. I spin around in my chair, preparing to see Sylvan sitting in the one besides me—but nothing can prepare me for what I actually see.

Sylvan Barnes, Victor of the 3rd annual Hunger Games, is dressed horribly. His white t-shirt is wrinkled beyond belief, with dark stains _everywhere_. His jacket is torn up and old, a nasty smell emanating from it. His pants are dirty, with food and dirt stains on them. And don't even get me started on his _hair_! Sylvan looks like a homeless _rat_.

The Capitol audience gasp when they see him. I don't know if it's because he just came out of nowhere or because of his appearance...but I'm leaning towards the latter.

Sylvan smirks at my speechless expression. "Well hello, Aeliana. Nice hair." I can't stop myself from grimacing. His breath is like a vortex. A disgusting, _rancid_ vortex.

"Wh-Why thank you, Sylvan," I say, forcing a smile. How am I supposed to share a stage with this bum?! "You... How are you?"

"Hmm... Well, I don't really want to be here...but I guess that's the price of living, huh?" He laughs a bitter, rebellious laugh—and the audience, ignorant to his word's true meaning, chuckle along with him.

I don't know what else to do, so I fake a laugh as well. "How funny," I say, swiping a piece of hair out of my eyes. "But enough with the formalities. Tell me, what do you think of District 9's tributes? I'm sure the audience is dying to—"

"Yeah, yeah, they're _dying_ to know. You've been saying the exact same thing for four years." Sylvan laughs again, and so does the audience. I furrow my brows, holding in my anger at being interrupted _and_ humiliated. "But where should I begin? That Terrance kid might do good, and yet, he might not. You can never really tell with these outer districts, because they don't usually have much skill and talent—but they can surprise you once in a while! He's not crying, though, so that must be a good sign for you people."

I don't miss the way he says that. _You people._ He says it with derisiveness, with anger, with disgust.

"That Toren girl, though, looks as normal as they come." Sylvan laughs, loudly, and the audience laugh along with him. I force a chuckle, trying my hardest to look casual. Usually, we don't make fun of our tributes. I may give a jab or two to the tributes from District 1, but still, it's nothing really serious. I know when to stop.

I doubt Sylvan does.

"Did you see her face, though?" He continues. "She didn't know _how_ to look! I bet she just wanted to curl up and cry!" Sylvan's still laughing, and the audience's laughter is getting louder. I don't know why, but I feel irked at the fact he's making fun of this poor girl. I mean, I don't particularly care for her…

But still. If anyone's going to make fun of these tributes on live television, it's going to be _me_. Not this district rat.

"Toren _didn't_ cry, though, nor were their tears in her eyes," I say, defending the girl. I don't know exactly why, but I am. I just have to. "She was strong, and I have high hopes for her. She might even outlast _your_ tributes!"

He shuts up at that, and the audience quiets down as well. After a moment of silence, however, Sylvan chuckles again.

"Hell, she probably will," he responds, leaning back against his seat. "I don't particularly care. As far as I'm concerned, nobody really wins these Games in the first place."

I furrow my brows; what a stupidly rebellious thing to say. The members of the audience, however, don't seem to get his words. They just stare and blink, a couple of whispers being thrown.

"Anyway, isn't it about time for District 10? I'm bored with Terrance and Toren." He then yawns, emphasizing the point.

The audience gets a little humor out of that, while I prevent myself from rolling my eyes. I feel sorry for these last few tributes. Chances are, Sylvan isn't going to let them get away without being humiliated in one way or another.

Maybe, for once, I'll try to defend them.

_District 10 will be airing soon, _I hear in my ear. _Get ready. _

I smile at Sylvan, my teeth showing. "Ah, you're right! Well, let's watch, shall we?"

I spin around in my chair, glaring daggers at District 7's annoying Victor when the lights shut off. He sees my glare and gives me a mocking smirk in return. I roll my eyes. _Stupid bastard._

The screen turns on—and District 10's vast farmlands are showed, animals and all. It's almost peaceful, in a way. Even though they're treated like slaves, forced to butcher animals and give us meat, at least they aren't living in the dusty dumps of District 12. They should at least be grateful for that, right?

The screen flickers over to the Town Square, the higher-ups on the stage and the children herded into sections below. The adults on the outskirt are looking just as worried as the ones from District 9, if not more. District 10 hasn't produced a Victor because, just like the other poor districts, they aren't prepared in the slightest. It's sad when you seriously think about it.

But then I think of the rebellion, and I don't care much anymore.

It's their fault.

"Welcome, District 10, to this year's annual reaping!" The Capitol escort exclaims. He's a chubby man, with swirling black tattoos covering his arms and legs. "I'll be reaping the female first, as that's the norm. Let's hope that she's a bit better than the girl from last year, right?"

He laughs all the way to the female bowl, snorting like a pig. The district citizens, however, stay deathly quiet. Last year, a sweet twelve-year-old girl was reaped. Even I fell in love with her during her time here. Unfortunately, she was the first death of the year, killed by her own District Partner no less. Tensions in District 10 have been running rampant ever since, I've heard. And I believe it.

The escort plucks a slip out of the bowl, straight from the top. He walks back over to the podium, smiling a surprisingly warm smile.

And then he opens the paper.

"London Tienna!" He hollers, waving the slip in the air like it's going to make her come any faster. "Come up and take your place as tribute, dear!"

Immediately, a high-pitched scream comes from the front. I smile, almost wickedly. _The front. This should be interesting_. The camera catches the movement and zooms in, focusing on a girl with long blonde hair and tan skin. She reaches for a few other girls, almost in desperation—and that's when the Peacekeepers come to intervene. The reaped girl quickly hugs her three friends, but the Peacekeepers roughly grab her by the arm and drag her screaming form into the aisle.

But then, London surprises me. She swings out a fist, catching a Peacekeeper by surprise and hitting him square in the face. I gasp in astonishment, and so does the audience members behind me. Because of the Peacekeeper's mask, I doubt the hit hurt—but the punch did it's job, because she slips out of their hold during the confusion and makes a run for the gate.

For some reason, I'm on the edge of my seat. I know London's not going to escape—_nobody_ escapes—but still, this is the best action that's happened so far during these monotonous reapings. And for her to catch a trained soldier in the face like that, she _must_ be a competitor—even if she doesn't realize it herself.

London makes it out of the cameras' view for a few seconds...but the Peacekeepers quickly bring her back to the Square, screaming and kicking. They drag her down the aisle and throw her onto the stage, as rough as possible. I'm expecting her to get up and make another break for it, but she doesn't. Instead, she just sits there, her eyes wide and afraid.

...Even though she just made a fool of herself, she's a _very_ pretty girl, with sea green eyes and freckles that pop out even more than those other two tributes. For some reason, though, they don't disgust me as much as the others. It's almost as if those freckles are _meant_ for her. Still, she's a beauty, and I'm almost positive she made an unforgettable first impression. Sponsors will definitely be coming her way.

"Well, that was an entertaining display," says the escort. He smiles at London, who doesn't even begin to return it. She's too busy staring out into the crowd, her green eyes misty.

Shrugging, the male escort walks over to the male bowl and grabs a slip from deep inside.

"And the male tribute representing District 10 this year will be…" He walks back over to the podium, opening the slip and reading the name with furrowed brows. "Ricky Laris! And don't try to run away like London, sir!"

There's commotion, up in the front. I smile again, thanking my lucky stars that District 10 has two older tributes. The camera pans down into the crowd and catches two boys standing by themselves, the others having already backed away. The shorter boy blinks, his mouth slightly agape—and that's when the taller one pulls him into a swift hug. The shorter boy—Ricky, I presume—is gently shoved into the aisle, his eyes widened in disbelief.

_He's about to freak out_, I think, but that's not the case at all.

Ricky shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking to the stage, his head down. When he gets onstage, however, he looks up momentarily, giving the cameras the chance to zoom in and inspect him. Ricky's actually a pretty cute-looking guy, with his round features and his dark brown eyes. He has messy black hair, and surprisingly, there's a bit of muscle on his arms. He's short for his age, though, and that won't work out for him during the Games. We'll see where that takes him…

"District 10," says the escort, grinning right at the cameras. "I present to you, your tributes!"

The screen flashes off, and the lights flash on. I spin around in my chair, planting a giant smile on my face. I'm faking, of course, but the crowd cheers and hoots anyway when they see my pearly whites. I'm a _star_. And whatever I do, the people will _love _it.

"That was _really_ enjoyable to see, wasn't it?" I ask the crowd, nodding at their many responses. "Maybe District 10 is getting themselves a Victor this year, don't you think? I, for one, think London is a really attractive young lady - and don't even get me started on her punches!"

I laugh, and so does the audience. Sylvan, however, just stares at me, deadpanned. He isn't even going to _try_ and act nice for the cameras. I seriously wish he'd just randomly combust into flames.

"And don't forget about Ricky! I bet that boy's just trying to act mysterious for the cameras, am I right? When that gong sounds out in the Arena, he's going to be a serious killer. I can tell!"

The crowd voices their agreements or disagreements—it doesn't really matter which one. I'm just trying to pass the time without Sylvan saying something annoying. I _do_ think that London is going to be a real threat, though. With the way she struggled, she _can't_ be a helpless victim, right? Ricky, on the other hand…

"I think District 10 is going to do the same thing they always do. They'll die," Sylvan says, his face still emotionless. What got into _him?_ "How can you even tell that London and Ricky are competitors? First impressions are stupid to begin with, and there's nobody in Panem that can tell someone's strengths and weaknesses just by looking at them walking to a stage. Before you start talking, Aeliana, why don't you _think_ for once?"

If I had a pencil or a pen or _anything_ in my hands, it'd be turned to dust by now. That's how much these irritating Victors get on my nerves. I seriously want to pound this guy's face in...

_But_ I need to keep my cool.

If I were to brutally kill a Victor, I don't think that'd go over well with the rest of Panem—_especially_ not in District 7. They'd have riots for _weeks_. They love their lone Victor to death.

"You're so funny, Sylvan." I fake a laugh, twirling my hair to keep my hands preoccupied. They'd be wringing around his neck otherwise. "But seriously, first impressions are everything! I mean, what would you think if someone came to your district with a buff body and tattoos over his arm? You'd think he was a strong guy, right?"

He doesn't answer—and even if he did, it wouldn't be anything worthwhile. I turn away from Sylvan, blowing hair out of my eyes. He snorts, still not saying a word.

"Anyway, do you all agree that District 10 is going to get themselves a Victor this year?" I ask the crowd, and they all voice their opinions once again. Most of them agree, and quite a few are screaming London's name. Sylvan snorts again, a crooked smile playing in the corners of his lips.

"Not if District 7 can show them a thing or two." He chuckles, suddenly sitting up, his eyes shining in clear amusement. "I'm not trying to be a conceited bitch or anything—I think you and Arsen fill in that section perfectly—but District 7 isn't going to lose to a bunch of butchers. We might not have two or three Victors, but we're still better than the majority of them."

And with that heart-wrenching speech, he slumps back into his seat, a dirty expression on his dirty face. I hold back a scoff, instead rolling my eyes. He's _such_ a dumbass. Why has President Kronin not executed this guy by now?

Victor or not, he's constantly raising out again the Capitol. Why can't he just learn his place?

_District 11 is about to begin their Reapings, _the control center man informs me. _It's storming, though, and our cameras may not be able to pick up everything. Don't be surprised if broadcasting suddenly shuts off. _

I twitch. "If it's not one thing, it's another," I mumble under my breath, before smiling cheerfully at the audience. "Anyway, I have good news! The second-to-last Reapings are about to begin!"

They cheer in ecstasy; I can tell that they're getting bored with the Reapings, too. And considering that these last two districts are the worst of the worst, they don't have high hopes for something exciting.

I know I sure don't.

The lights turn off, and the big screen turns on. The first thing I hear is the rain pattering, drowning out the mayor's boring drawl. It really _is_ a storm in District 11. The skies are a depressing black, with lightning striking the earth at random times, sometimes illuminating the Square. District 11 is horribly overpopulated, with children having to squeeze into other sections. I can't even see the parents!

And none of them look happy. _Tortured_ is a better word.

Lightning strikes again, and this time thunder is added to the mix. The mayor finishes the treaty and heads back to his seat, while the Escort quickly bounces over to the podium. She's a middle-aged woman with long brown hair, cascading all the way to her shoes. She's getting horribly wet in this storm—and don't even get me started on her poor hair.

"I would like to make some acknowledgements before I begin," she starts, but another round of thunder cuts her off. "Eep! N-Never mind! I'll go reap the male tribute first!"

_Good choice_, I think, shaking my head in clear amusement. It's almost funny seeing how distressed she looks.

She quickly grabs a slip of paper from the male bowl, rushing back to the microphone afterwards. Before the rain can make the words unintelligible, she hurries and reads the name.

"Stag Browning!"

The Peacekeepers are on high alert, that much is clearly obvious. District 11 is almost as bad, if not worse, than District 7 when it comes to rebelling against us. Since it's storming, I don't put it past them to suddenly initiate a full-out fight.

But, surprisingly, they don't do anything. Well, except for the boys in the front. The rain makes it hard to see, but the eighteen-year-olds all back away, leaving a relatively strong-looking male by himself. He looks around, as if for help—but reality hits hard. He's going to be in the Hunger Games, and he's going to die. There's nothing that can save him.

"_No!_ Stag!" The camera has trouble finding the voice—but after a moment, they do. A small child with dark brown skin and bushy black hair is running down the aisle, pretty fast if I say so myself. He runs right past a shocked-looking Stag and climbs the steps to the stage, not even panting when he makes it next to the Escort.

She looks just as surprised as everyone else. "...Huh? Who are you?"

"Koda Samuels!" He exclaims in a loud voice—but comically, he shrinks under her stare. "I… I don't want Stag to go! I'll go instead!"

The Escort just continues to stare. "...So you volunteer?"

Koda nods, a little too many times for my tastes. His features are tight, and his eyes are scrunched in a way that's hiding yet displaying fear at the same time. Poor child.

…

Wait.

It takes me a moment to realize it—but when I do, it takes all the power imaginable to contain my outburst.

Koda Samuels, a twelve-year-old boy, just volunteered. He _volunteered_, and for an eighteen-year-old no less! An eighteen-year-old that he proclaimed was his brother, yet their last names are different, and they don't look similar at _all!_

_...What?!_

The camera goes back down to the crowd of boys. They don't know what to look like; some look sad, some look mad, and some just look down-right astonished. Stag is still staring at the stage, still staring at _Koda_, in complete and utter surprise.

For a minute, there's complete silence. The Capitol Escort is the one to get her bearings straight first, and she snaps everyone else out of their trance by hurrying over to the female bowl. The rain is coming down harder now, as if signalizing something horrible.

"And the female tribute representing District 11…" She takes out a slip and opens it, not even bothering to go back to the podium. "Meeko Brighton!"

"WHAT?!" Koda screams. The Escort whizzes around to stare at him again, and once again, her look makes him back down. But not completely. "Please not Meeko…"

In response to his question, a fourteen-year-old girl steps out of the crowd, not even waiting for them to isolate her. That's good, at least. District 11 is just _full_ of surprises this year. Meeko is rather thin, with soft peach skin and black hair chopped to her shoulders. Her eyes are a dark brown, and they look almost unbothered by the entire thing. I mean, she just got sentenced to death...yet she doesn't even look interested. Is there something wrong with her?

Meeko walks down the aisle and up the steps. She stands right next to her Capitol Escort, not a single word coming out of her mouth—and her loud District Partner, Koda, just gapes at her. Meeko glances at him, but that's all she does. Do they really know each other? I'm seriously confused…

"Here are your tributes, District 11!" The Escort announces, not looking too pleased. It may be the rain, or it may be her weird tributes. "Have a good evening!"

And with that, the broadcast shuts off. The lights start to turn on, and the audience is uncharastically silent when I turn around. They don't know what to think. And right now, I don't even know what to say.

_Fortunately_ for us, Sylvan opens his big fat mouth to comment.

"Koda is an idiot, probably even delusional, and he's going to die." The words come out of his mouth so bluntly, and even I can't help crack a smile. The audience burst into laughs and giggles, some of them even clapping. Sylvan gives them a weird look. "Seriously, it's not funny. I'm not trying to entertain you people. He's going to _die!_ Can't you people realize that?!"

That just makes them laugh even harder, and I smirk at his red complexion. He's such an idiot. Does he really think these fools can emotionally connect with him? They can't. _They're on an entirely different plane from you, Sylvan, and they'll always be._

There's nothing he can do—about _anything_. Even as Victor, he can't have everything he wants.

I giggle, bringing the attention me myself. "Koda is an interesting little guy, don't you think? I mean, he's District 11's very first volunteer—and he's only twelve! Do you all think little Koda's going to entertain us?"

The audience all voice their opinions. It's the best feeling in the world, having all eyes on you, having the entire world underneath your feet. It's an exhilarating feeling, and I just can't get enough of it.

"What about Meeko, though? Didn't she look strong up there?" I ask them.

Before they can really even answer, though, Sylvan pipes up. "_How?_ She didn't even do anything other than walk to a stage!"

"That's the point. Nobody had to force her or anything," I respond, grinning at his scowl. "And besides, she was really pretty. Koda is handsome, too. I really wish them the best of luck."

Sylvan snorts. "They don't need luck…"

He trails off, and we continue talking. Well, it's mainly me talking. He just pouts to himself, a glare frozen on his face. Serves him right. Anyone that speaks out so evilly against the Capitol should not be able to stay content and alive. It's not fair.

_It's almost time for the last Reapings, _says the control center man. For the first time in forever, an actually real smile slithers on my face. I'm almost done. Just two more children, and I'm done.

For some reason, it makes me all giddy inside. Cutting Sylvan off from whatever he was mumbling about, I inform the audience of District 12's Reaping, and the screams that reverberate throughout the place are insane. They're ready for this to be over, almost as much as I'm ready. Reaping Day is fun and everything, but after District 7, it just gets a bit...monotonous.

But whatever. None of that matters anymore.

Spinning around, I wait for the lights to turn off and the screen to turn on. And when they do, the first thing I'm met with is the pale, coal-faced children of District 12. Compared to us in the Capitol, these people don't even look human anymore. They're too scrawny, too dirty. I'd rather die than live in some shithole like that.

The mayor is a skinny man, with gray hairs sticking out despite his young face. He walks up to the podium and clears his throat, before opening his mouth to read the Treaty of Treason.

"War. Terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child—this was the uprising that rot our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained."

The districts turned on us. The districts tried to kill us. We gave them food, land—and in response, they initiated war. We just finished it, and we're making sure it never happens again.

"And then came the peace. Hard-fought, sorely won. Our people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation, we would never know this treason again."

Never again will the districts rebel. Never again will they kill our citizens, kill out fathers. Never again will my mom have to cry; never again will _I_ have to cry.

"And so, it was decreed that each year, the various districts in Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice. The lone Victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."

The Hunger Games aren't evil. The _Capitol_ isn't evil. We're just righting a wrong. For us to let them off the hook so easily...

That'd be stupid. And us in the Capitol may be a lot of things, but we are _not_ stupid.

The mayor looks up from the sheet of paper in front of him, grimacing. "Please give a warm welcoming to your Escort, all the way from the Capitol."

There are no claps, none of any kind. Just like the districts before them, District 12 despises the Capitol and everyone associated with us. And that's why they will never, ever have a Victor. It'd go against the laws of physics or something.

The Capitol Escort is a tall man with straight black hair and a scary smile. His eyes are a dark red, contrasting against his hair. I've met this man before, just once. He's a dumbass pervert, and the sad thing is that he actually thinks that he looks good. Ha! I just feel sorry for the female tribute that has to be with him this year.

"Welcome, and Happy Hunger Games!" He recites. He says the exact same thing, year after year. "May the odds be _ever_ in your favor, District 12. This year, can we try and get someone strong to participate? It'd suck to lose _another_ two tributes, right?"

He's trying to get a reaction out of District 12's inhabitants—but nobody speaks, or moves, or does anything to indicate that they heard him. If they're one thing, it's that they're persistent in their pathetic rebellious attempts.

Smirking, the Escort says, "As usual, I'll be selecting one pretty little girl and one young man to compete in this year's Hunger Games. Ladies first." He turns away from the crowd and walks over to female bowl, tensions rising with every step. They may look all mean and hateful, but they're still just children, and children are easy to break.

The Escort grabs a single white slip, a single little life he's ruined, and walks back over to the podium. When he opens the slip, there's nobody talking, nobody even _breathing_.

And then, he says the name.

"Isabel Abriani!"

The cameras move almost immediately, focusing on the dark-skinned girl standing in the eighteen-year-olds section. The kids have moved away from her fast, almost _too_ fast—and now she's alone, chosen to compete in a pageant of life and death. Isabel stands there for a moment, her mouth slightly agape...and before I even know what's going on, silent tears are trailing down her eyes.

She's _crying_. This year, the tributes have been fairly accepting of their fate. I can't even remember the last time one of them _cried_. Was it Michael Riverbee?

Suddenly wiping her tears, Isabel walks out into the aisle and up the steps. Her head is lowered and she doesn't say a single word, even as the Escort asks her questions like "how do you you feel?" and "do you think you can win?". Isabel doesn't even turn to look at him—and I guess that pisses him off, because he walks over to the male bowl with a scowl.

"And the male tribute representing District 12 in the 5th annual Hunger Games is..." He digs his hand inside the bowl, sadistically enjoying the childrens' worried expressions. It _is_ kind of funny how nauseated they look, to be honest.

Suddenly, he takes his hand out. A crisp white slip sits in his hands, a triumphant smile on his face.

He takes his time going back to the podium. When the Escort _does_ get there, however, his hands move to open the paper _extremely_ fast. His crimson eyes scan the name written.

"Eion Daltier!"

There's silence, as usual, but this silence is more bearable. The males and females of District 12 all seem to display relief—because everyone except one unlucky boy and girl have been spared. It may make them sick, but I can't help to think how happy they may be—well, internally.

The cameras dive down to the crowd of boys, and I'm more than pleased to see the eighteen-year-old section break open, leaving two young men alone. The taller boy with dirty blond hair turns to stare at his friend, who's gaping at the stage with wide eyes. It's actually a pretty funny sight, and I'm not the only one to giggle at it.

But all the humor drains away when the blond boy pales, reality crashing down upon him. He's been selected to die. Before the Peacekeepers can come, Eion gently pushes his way to the aisle—and when he finally gets there, he trips and almost falls to the ground. I smirk at that; if he hadn't caught himself, his chances at getting any sponsors would have depleted immediately.

Turning a bright shade of red, Eion laughs a nervous, embarrassed laugh. A few more members of the Capitol audience laugh at him, while I roll my eyes. This guy can _seriously_ put a smile on someone's face, can't he?

Not wasting anymore time, Eion walks up the steps to the stage. He's not crying like his District Partner, thankfully, but he looks just as terrified. And why shouldn't he be? Being from District 12, his chances of coming out of that arena are miniscule.

While both tributes of District 12 are standing on the stage, the cameras take that time to zoom in. Isabel is actually a very pretty girl, and compared to the other residents of District 12, she stands out a lot. Her cocoa brown skin is a stark contrast to the pale-skinned miners residing there, and she doesn't look like she's starving either. Her skin is clear of any blemishes, and her hair is dark, long and wavy. If she wasn't noticeably holding back tears, I'd probably think she stood a chance. And that's saying something, coming from _me_.

Eion, in contrast to his District Partner, has pale skin and messy dark blond hair. What really draws me into his face are his eyebrows, which are thick and dark, set right over his light blue eyes. His lips are full and his nose is slightly larger than most. Oh, and just like a handful of tributes before him, he has freckles splashed across his face. He's not ugly at all...but I don't think he should focus on his looks to get sponsors. Being from District 12 and everything, he just can't help it, I guess.

Eion isn't scrawny like most boys in his district, however. While he's nothing at all to brag about, he's broad-shouldered, and there's a few small muscles on him from what I can see. He may actually have a chance, too!

"District 12," the Escort says, grabbing both Isabel and Eion's wrists and holding them up, like _champions_. "Your tributes." And then, the screen shuts off.

It takes me a moment to turn back to the audience. I don't know why, but at the sudden realisation that the Reapings are _done, _I… I…

I laugh. I burst into sudden laughter that probably looks crazy from an outside perspective, but I'm done!

_I'm done._

Sylvan gives me an irate look, while the audience is chuckling confusedly to themselves. I spin around a few times, acting more like a District 1 child than a full-blown Capitol celebrity.

But I don't care. I'm finished with the Reapings; I'm finished with these children—well, until I have to personally interview them...but whatever. Right now, I'm _done_. And that's all that matters to me.

"Well, those were all the Reapings, everyone!" I exclaim, relishing in the cheers of my people. I swipe a bit of hair out of my eyes, grinning like a fool. "I'm so, so, _so_ very excited for these Games! All of these tributes were just so interesting! I can't _wait_ to interview them!"

The Capitol Anthem starts to play, signalling that my time is almost up. I blow kisses at my fans, waving whenever I meet the eyes of one.

Toren and Terrance from District 9. Ricky and London from District 10. Meeko and Koda from District 11. And Eion and Isabel from District 12. Each and every one of these teenagers are going to have a defining moment here in the Capitol. I almost envy them.

But then, just like fifteen others, they'll be sent to the slaughterhouse. And us in the Capitol will cheer, and we will laugh, and we may even cry.

But no matter what happens, we will love every single _second_ of it. Like a tornado, our emotions may get thrown all over the place—but the end result will always be the same.

"Everyone, let's have a Happy Hunger Games!"

And for the tributes, may the odds be _ever_ in their favor.

* * *

**Okay, sorry for the long wait time, everyone! I was really busy with a lot of different things, and Reapings are a pain in the ass. This chapter was better to write than the last, though, so yay! **

**Once again, I'd like to thank you all for the support I'm receiving. I'd never have finished these dreadful Reapings if not for you guys, so thanks a lot!**

**Oh, and if you all can, I'd really like for you all to visit my buddy IronManRidingaNimbus and read his SYOT: "Under the Black Flag." He's just finished his Reaping chapters, like me, and it's really interesting to read! I'm sure you'll all enjoy it! **

**Ahem, anyway… What else was I supposed to put on here? I don't know. Uhhh… Oh yeah! The next chapter will be Train Rides to the Capitol, so be prepared for that! **

**Bye-bye! ^_^**


	6. Train Rides Part One

**Quick Note: I've decided to write out the numbers of the districts instead of just having the number. Yeah, it might seem small to you, but it's kinda annoying me xD**

* * *

**Train Rides Part One**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games_

* * *

**Vesper Quinn, 18;**

**District One Male.**

I follow my escort Aquila into the sleek tribute train, and the door closes behind me, by itself. I almost want to sigh in relief at that; those Capitol people and their cameras were seriously trying my patience. Right before boarding the train, a surplus of Capitol reporters wanted to take pictures of Adeline and I, and they even had the _audacity_ to ask us questions.

_"How do you feel about representing your district, Adeline?"_

_"Are you proud, Vesper?" _

_"Do you two think you can win these Games?"_

Adeline tried to answer a few questions, though she kept stumbling over her words. Obviously she wasn't as pleased about this as she wanted them to think. Me, however—well, I ignored every single word they said to me. I _hate_ these supercilious Capitolites, and I'm _not_ going to put on a façade for them.

I'm not like the rest of my stuck-up district.

"Well, here you have it!" Aquila exclaims, motioning for us to walk deeper into the train. Adeline smiles, almost shyly, and she quickens her step. I follow behind, but at a much more slower pace.

After a few seconds, we make it to the kitchen—and even though I'm not surprised, considering it's the _Capitol_ we're talking about, it does shock me a bit. The train has thick, deep carpets all around, with chairs made of velvet and even a bit of gold lining. The table is set with a lot of highly breakable glassware, filled with drinks of many different colors. There's unique-looking plates of food plastered around the area, too; it looks more like _art_ than nourishment.

Our Escort sees the looks of astonishment on our faces and smiles.

"I know, I know. Gorgeous, right?" She giggles, pointing down the hallway. "You each have your own room, obviously, and the drawers are filled with dozens and dozens of different clothes to wear. You also have a private bathroom, so I suggest refreshing a bit before lunch."

"Lunch?" I question incredulously. "With all of this food here?" Considering my housing predicament, I hardly ever have enough to eat. Even in Panem's richest district, I never go to bed full. I eat what I can, and then save the rest for a rainy day—which, for me, is every day.

And she's telling me that the Capitol can leave this food out, just waiting to be devoured, and _then_ have more for lunch?

"What? This stuff here?" She looks behind herself, at the plates and plates of colorful entrees. And then, annoyingly, she laughs. "Oh sweetie, this here is just the snacks—which, since we're on the subject, I advise not eating. Wouldn't want to ruin your little appetite."

I blink, before scowling. Her patronizing tone is seriously pushing on my nerves.

"What about our mentor?" Adeline asks, suddenly speaking up. Her voice is soft, yet strong—like she's trying to hide the softness. "I didn't see Jewell up onstage during the Reapings."

That's true, she wasn't there this year. I don't care much about District One's lone Victor, but it'd be really unfortunate if she just up and died. It happens.

Death happens all the time, actually.

"Don't worry, your mentor is in the Capitol. All of the Victors were summoned for an interview or something, but you'll get to meet her soon!"

"Oh." Adeline looks down, a small smile on her face. "Thank you."

Raising a brow, I stare at my District Partner, sizing her up. If I'm going to come back to my district of idiots, she'll have to die; I need to see if she's going to be a problem in the future.

And right now, I don't see one. Adeline looks up and smiles at me, another one of her shy little smiles. Does she expect me to smile back? In a week, we'll have to kill each other. There's absolutely nothing to smile about. She's stupid if she thinks so.

"I'll leave you two to your business then," Aquila says. I turn away from my District Partner, meeting my Escort's pink eyes. She smiles, creepily. "If you need _anything_, Vesper, all you have to do is come and ask."

She reaches her hand out to touch my arm—but I wrench it away, scowling at the woman in disgust. Who does she think she is?!

"Do _not_ touch me," I hiss, glaring daggers. The older lady shrinks under my stare. "Don't you _ever_ touch me."

Adeline looks shocked, while Aquila looks on the verge of shitting herself. "E-Excuse me? What's wrong, dear?"

I've been holding it in for a while—but I can't, not anymore. Whenever I look at this lady, I think of my mother, I think of my father. I think of how my entire life turned upside-down, all because of her, all because of _them_. They made life not worth living anymore.

"I _hate_ you. I hate you, and I hate this situation, and I hate everyone in the motherfucking Capitol! And I don't want any of you to touch me!" Before I do something I'll later regret, I storm away from the two females.

I open a door located in the hallway, and I'm thankful to see that it's a room. The bed is a big one, maybe a queen-size, and the covers are a royal blue. There's another door in the room, most likely the bathroom. I think of going in there and taking a shower to calm my nerves...but no, not right now. I just need to lie down, get my emotions together.

I close and lock the door behind me—and before I know it, I'm lying on the bed, my head resting on the most comfortable pillow I've ever felt.

It sickens me.

The food, the luxury, the Hunger Games. All of it makes me sick to my stomach, because _they're_ the ones who own it all. They can kill whoever they want, break families apart—and they have the _gall_ to take children away from their family and force them to fight to the death?

It's so pointless.

All of this, even life itself, is so pointless.

_But now, you have an opportunity, _I tell myself, shutting my eyes. _You can finally make your life better. Even though it's the Hunger Games, even though it's beyond idiotic, you can do it. _

I can do it.

I can win the Hunger Games; I can create a better life for myself.

I have absolutely nothing to lose.

* * *

**Echo Woods, 17;**

**District Two Female.**

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I rub my fingers over my token—Reyna's necklace, the one she never takes off. I don't know why she gave it to me—I'll be back in a month, _if_ that—but it _does_ help calm my nerves. It's warmed with her body heat, and it smells just like her. I guess, if I had to take something, this would be my best bet.

I didn't want to take anything to the Capitol with me, though, because I don't _want_ to partake in the Hunger Games.

My life was carefully planned out; I was supposed to continue my training, become a Peacekeeper after I turned eighteen, and live the rest of my life contentedly with Reyna. The Hunger Games weren't even something I bothered myself with, because what were the odds of me seriously being reaped?

Big enough, apparently.

I mean, I'm not _scared_. Definitely not scared. The Capitol is a bit more lenient towards District Two; they won't send Mutts after me, or lure me into a trap, or do _anything_. As long as I can kill for them—and I _can_ kill for them—they'll leave me be.

And honestly, that's all I have to worry about. The other tributes can't even begin to compare to me, so I won't have to worry about them. Even though I haven't seen them yet, I know.

Sighing, I scowl at the foreign pastry in front of me. Even though I'm not going to die, it's irritating that I have to do this in the first place. I'm not against the Capitol—it isn't their fault I'm here, it's the rebels'—nor am I even against the Hunger Games. Us in District Two, we don't usually worry about things like that, because we'll always have an advantage should something unexpected occurs.

And true to my words, something unexpected did happen. I was reaped—but I'm prepared, I'm more prepared than anyone right now. I can do this; I _am_ _going_ to do this.

"...One to two...no more holes...that's true..."

"_What_ are you mumbling about?" I snap at Kostos, my stupid District Partner. Ever since we boarded the train, he's been mumbling strange things to himself. He's also a part of the reason why I'm so irate. "I'm thinking right now, so shut up."

I know I'm probably being too harsh, but right now, I'm too irritated to care. And besides, what's the point of being cordial to him anyway? When I go back home, he'll be dead. There's just no point.

Surprisingly, though, Kostos just looks up and smiles at me. "Sorry," he says. His voice is higher than most boys I know. Has he not gone through puberty or something?

I look away from him, back to the un-eaten food item in front of me. There's no reason for me to talk to him at all, actually. I mean, usually the pair from District Two ally together...but I just don't know about that this year. If he's going to get the satisfaction of allying with me, then he needs to show me some promise. No way will I be carrying dead weight around throughout my time in the Arena.

Not that I need any allies. I'm better off being alone in the first place.

"_So_," Kostos begins, stretching the word out. I look back up at him, frowning. What does he want now? "You're that mean lesbian girl, right?"

The words take me by surprise. "Huh?!"

"Yeah, I think I've heard about you. You and that other girl go out—isn't her name Rain or something?"

"_Reyna_," I correct, almost spitting the name out. I have a reason to be mad, don't I? I've been reaped for the Hunger Games, nobody decided to volunteer for me, and now this boy I've never seen before is talking as if we're long-lost siblings. "Excuse me for asking, but how in the hell do you know any of this about me?"

Kostos grins. "Girls talk. I listen. And sometimes, I even remember things."

"Right." Rolling my eyes, I get up from my seat. This guy's going to really get on my nerves, I can tell. My bitchy attitude isn't driving him away like it's supposed to.

Before I can go off to my room or something, though, Kostos moves, faster than I expect from someone like him. I flinch—and he uses that small moment of weakness to press me against the wall, surprisingly gentle. His face is literally inches away, his blue eyes staring straight into mine.

"Why're you leaving so early? What's the rush?" He asks—and the only reason I'm not pummeling this guy to the ground is because I'm so shocked he's doing this in the first place. He seemed a little on the sweet side, if you catch my drift. "I know you're not into guys, but dangerous experiences are known to change people. Why not get to know each other a bit before we get to the Capitol?"

_Is he suggesting—? _I heat up, my shocked expression turning into a scowl. Before I realize what I'm doing myself, I grab his arm and twist, shoving the perv off of me. He hits the wall opposite to mine, a pained smile on his face.

"So you can fight," he says, chuckling. That big grin of his comes back, and he scratches the back of his head.

"Don't laugh!" I snap, trying—_and failing_—to contain my rage. "How _dare_ you suggest something like that?! I have a _girlfriend!_ I _love_ her! You—! I'd _never_—!"

My anger just makes him laugh harder. "I was kidding, I was kidding!" He tries to hide his smile behind his hand when he sees the look of murder that no-doubt crosses my face. "Seriously, I just wanted to lighten the mood. You looked mad earlier, so..."

"Yeah, whatever." I close my eyes, pinching my nose. Like, what is wrong with people? Each day I live, I get more and more irritated with them. "Just leave me alone, Kostos. Not everyone wants to be here like you."

I don't want to be here, but nonetheless, I'm going to make the best of it. During goodbyes, Reyna made sure to note the positives instead of the negatives—like how I finally get to see our beloved Capitol, or how I can use this opportunity to the fullest.

So that's what I'll do. I'll use this opportunity to my advantage. After I win these Games, the Capitol will be so impressed with me that they'll make me the Head Peacekeeper or something. And living in the Victor's Village with Reyna would be heavenly.

So I'll win the Hunger Games, and that's all there is to it. Twenty-three others will have to die, but if that's how it has to be, then that's how it's going to be. It's not my place to question the Capitol.

For all they've done, I'm forever loyal.

* * *

**Iris Logan, 12;**

**District Three Female.**

"You two should really eat up! Both of you are just so scrawny!"

My escort Balbina laughs to herself, scooping up some slimy yellow stuff with her fork. She called it _macarit_ and cheese or something, but it just looks nasty to me.

I look down at the food placed in front of me. It's bread, cheese, and squashed tomatoes mixed into a triangle shape—a _pizza_, I think she told me. It smells so good, but I just don't understand. How do you make food like this? And why?

I'm too scared to taste it—and besides, my stomach isn't feeling it anyway. The fear builds up there, making home inside my intestines, feeding on my anxieties. I'm _scared_.

I've just been reaped for the Hunger Games. I just saw my mommy, my daddy, and my twin sister for the last time. It _hurts_, thinking about things like this. But I can't stop. Why me? Why did she pick my name? It's not fair, not fair, _not fair._

It's just so unfair.

"Come on, sweetie." Balbina gives me a look of concern, a bit of cheese on her lip. If I was in my right mind, I'd tell her about it, maybe even wipe it off for her! But I'm not in my right mind right now.

_I'm just so scared. _

_I just don't want to die._

"I'm sorry..." My voice is weak, breaking at the smallest of syllables. Suddenly, my eyes sting—but I shut them close, not daring to cry again. I may be weak, I may be about to _die_, but I can still be strong. I really, really can.

My Escort sighs, putting some more of that cheesy stuff in her mouth. She's given up all hope in me now, I can tell. First it was Tet; she couldn't even get a word out of him. And now it's me. _I'm sorry, _I want to say, but I can't.

Speaking of Tet, I glance over at him. He's still in the same spot, sitting in a chair at the very side of the train, staring out the window. My Escort said something about him being in shock, and maybe he is, but I can't help but just feel sorry for him.

I snort. _Look at me. Feeling sorry for a boy older than me_. For a split second, a sad smile crosses my face. _At least this whole thing isn't breaking me completely. _

That's one thing I can't let happen to me. My parents, my sister, my friends—they all know me by my sunny smile, my cheery attitude, my helpful personality. If they saw me now, moping like this, refusing to eat food graciously given to me...

I swallow down my tears, chuckling to myself. _Don't let this break you, Iris. Even you can be strong if you really try. _

I can; I _know_ I can.

"What? What's funny?" Balbina gives me a look of confusion, but shrugs it off when I don't say anything, going back to eating her food. Even though she's partly why I'm here in the first place, I can't hate her. She's been nothing but nice to me ever since I got here.

I should be the same.

Picking up a fork, I stab the pizza, trying to pick it up. For a few moments, I keep trying to eat the pizza with the fork, but it's just not working! Why is it so hard to eat this stuff? Do the Capitol people do this on purpose?

Suddenly, I hear a laugh. Looking up, I see my Escort covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking. She's...laughing at me? They really _are_ doing this on purpose, aren't they?

"You don't eat it like that, sweetie," she says, closing her eyes to control her laughter. I blink, feeling my face get hot.

"Oh."

"Here, you eat it like this." She grabs a slice of pizza from the large saucer in the middle of our table, handling it like a professional. I stare, perplexed and slightly amazed, as she brings the pizza to her mouth and chews on the end. Sighing contentedly, she places the rest on her plate, still chewing. "Do exactly what I did, dear. Go on, try it!"

"Okay..." I grab the pizza like how she did, slowly bringing it to my mouth. Honestly, I'm not really hungry, and this weird Capitol food isn't very appetizing...but it's the least I can do for Balbina. She's trying hard to help me, and I need to let her know that I'm grateful.

Because I really am grateful. I'll need all the help I can get to get through this. And in return, I'll give help back.

It's just what I do.

I take a bite—and instantly, the taste explodes in my mouth. I hum, savoring it, my taste buds melting in delight. It's delicious! I take another bite, and another, and another—and before I know it, the whole pizza is gone, digesting in my stomach.

Balbina laughs when I reach for another piece, and I end up laughing at her laughter. In seconds, we're both laughing, cheese on her lips and cheese on my hands.

The Capitol people may be a bit messed up inside—but they're still people, they can still be sweet and kind when they want to be. As long as I'm good to my Escort, I think she'll be good to me.

"Well, the Reaping Recaps will be on in an hour or two," she tells me, and just like that, my mood plummets again. I had momentarily forgotten about the Hunger Games; I had momentarily forgotten about my death.

I glance over at Tet, who's still staring out the window. He hasn't moved an inch since we got on this train. Is that how he's coping with all this?

Trying to smile, I get up from my seat. I can help him adjust, if anything. I mean, I'm still not fully adjusted myself—but helping him just might help me. And being that sweet, helpful girl again is just what I need.

_I may end up dead in a week, but that doesn't mean I'll let them take away my shine. _

_I won't let them break me. _

* * *

**Ula Dylan, 18;**

**District Four Female.**

I stare at the gold ring Pond gave me, watching as it shines in the light. It's very pretty, probably the prettiest thing I've ever seen before. For him to have given me something like this, something so beautiful and expensive...

I still remember the way his body trembled when he hugged me, the way his lips felt when he kissed me. It wasn't long at all—but it was enough. Enough to swallow down my apprehension and promise him that I'll be back.

Because I have to come back home. For him, for my sisters, for _myself_.

As if swimming in a sea of memories, all I can think about as I sit at the extravagant dining table are the Goodbyes. "Be strong," my dad told me, before embracing me in a long hug. Even though there were no tears in his eyes, he was trembling against me. Being the amazing father he is, he didn't want to break down in front of my three sisters.

And that's good—because if he were to cry, I would've cried. And coming out of the Justice Building with red puffy eyes after volunteering wouldn't have been a good look.

Immediately after thinking that thought, I snort. _A good look_. I close my eyes, the ring clutched in my hands. From here on out, I have to look good. I have to make these Capitol people like me, love me, _sponsor_ me. Can I seriously do that?

"So, what shall my lovely volunteer eat today?" My escort Cassian asks me, smiling. He's finally put on a proper shirt, and hopefully he's thrown that fake trident away. Seeing any sort of weapon makes me sick, especially after what I'll have to soon go through...

I shake my head, clenching my fists under the table. "Anything is fine," I say, keeping my voice low and controlled. I'm _trying_. Trying to keep my cool, trying to raise my chances, trying to stay alive.

He nods, his smile turning into a flat-out grin. "Okay. Lobster for District Four it is!"

..._Seriously?_

"Um..." Caio catches our attention, an almost sheepish look on his face. "Can I get something to eat, too?"

Our Escort glances at him, his enthusiasm gone with the wind. It's horribly obvious who's the favorite here—it's _me_, and I'm not too sure how I feel about that.

"Why? I gave you a choice when we came in earlier." The Capitolite's voice is vexing, his patronizing tone making Caio frown. "Eat the snacks plastered around, or wait until lunch. You, unlike your lovely District Partner, chose to eat then and there—so no lunch for you! You'll just have to wait until dinner."

"And who made you the boss of my eating schedule?" Caio demands, that irritated attitude of his coming back. After the Reapings, he seemed more quiet and subdued. I'd even go so far as to say friendly. But Cassian brings the worst emotions out of anyone.

Caio just isn't afraid to voice his emotions. And that'll be the death of him.

_Don't say that, _I think, immediately. _Don't turn into that kind of person already. _

Caio and Cassian argue for a bit, and all the while I'm dead silent, just watching. I do that a lot; listening to people is better than talking, observing people is better than being the one observed. Unless it's something I'm really passionate about, you'll never see me leading a conversation.

Caio isn't a bad person at all, contrary to our Escort's beliefs. He's pretty quiet around me, but he won't bite his tongue whenever our Escort says something to him. And for some reason, it takes him a long time to make a decision. When Cassian asked us to choose between eating now or later, it took Caio nearly five minutes to give a straight answer. In the end, Caio chose to eat then—and now he's regretting that decision, it looks like.

"Fine!" Our Escort looks away, fuming. "What do _you_ want to eat then?"

And just like that, Caio's angry expression turns into a troubled one. I stare, almost amused, as he ponders the question for a bit. And then, he turns towards me. The unspoken question is as clear as day: _What should I get?_

"Have you ever tried lobster before?" I ask him, trying to smile despite the emotions running rampant through my body. He shakes his head. "Yeah, me neither. But there's a first time for everything, so why not give it a shot with me?"

Caio nods, turning back to our Escort. "I guess I'll be getting the lobster..."

"_Great_," the Capitol man replies, obviously miffed—and then he goes off to order the food or something. When he does, I relax my posture, letting out all the troubled emotions with one long sigh. I seriously hate that man.

Suddenly, Caio looks at me, smiling the first smile I've ever seen him smile. "Thanks," he says.

"No problem." Reciprocating the smile is the problem, but I somehow find strength to do it anyway. I can be that kind, helpful girl; I can be any type of girl I have to be.

_But can I be a killer? Is that what the Capitol expects me to be?_

_Do I even have a choice?_

I already know the answer to that question. I _don't_ have a choice. If I'm ever going to return home, I'll have to say whatever the Capitol wants me to say, do whatever the Capitol wants me to do...

Kill whoever the Capitol wants me to kill.

_Can I seriously do something like that? Turn into something I'm so clearly not?_

I don't know.

* * *

**Alexandra Fearn, 14;**

**District Five Female.**

"This food is disgusting." I shove the plate away, wiping my mouth. Michael gives me a look, his brown eyes displaying the innocence lying within. It'll be sad when he dies—because let's face it, he's going to die fast.

I'm probably going to die, too. _But you can't die. There's too many people on the line here. _

"Young lady, that is no way to behave!" My escort Drusas berates me, wagging his finger like I'm some sort of dog. "This may not be the kind of _slop_ you ate back in your district, but—"

"Don't even finish that sentence," I interrupt, narrowing my eyes. "Because you sound extremely ignorant. You have _no_ idea what we eat in District Five, so don't just assume that it's slop because we're supposedly lower than you _amazing_ Capitol people."

I've learned pretty quickly just how two-faced and irritating my Escort truly is. In front of cameras, he acts all goofy and stupid—but when he's alone with us, his true colors are shone. He thinks he's _better_ than everyone else, and the amount of compassion he feels for us are nonexistent.

Well, he's not dealing with a crybaby this year.

If he wants to be a dick, I'll be a bitch.

"You are such a disappointment, Alexandra." His face is red, his nose turned up in disgust. "You volunteered for this, so I thought that you'd be a bit more pleasant than the usual brats I have to deal with. Unfortunately, my first impression deceives me."

"Maybe you should learn not to base everything on appearances." I point at all the decorations placed around—the chandeliers, the gold, the unidentifiable drinks. All of this luxury, wasted on two teenagers that are going to die.

_Stop saying that. You'll survive through this. You don't have a choice, Ali. _

"But if you're going by first impressions, I will, too. Everyone in the Capitol are vain, self-preoccupied _freaks_ who eat rainbows for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"That's enough!" Drusas exclaims, slamming his hands on the table. "You really need to learn a thing or two about respect, missy, because that's the _only_ way you're going to survive in this world. You can bad-mouth the food, fine—but don't you dare disrespect me, because I'm the _only_ way you'll get sponsors. And without sponsors, volunteer or not, you can kiss your victory goodbye!"

And with that declaration, he gets up from his seat and storms off, probably to go powder his nose or something. I smirk, crossing my arms.

_Well, I didn't think that through, now did I?_

But on a serious note, I really despise him.

These Capitol people are disgusting. Like, honestly _disgusting_. They kill our families, obliterate thousands upon thousands of people in District Thirteen, and now they're slowly breaking the districts' population, slowly breaking away their spirit.

They kill children.

And the sad part is, they really enjoy it.

I mean, the Hunger Games are _bad_, but it wouldn't be so bad if the Capitol people didn't truly enjoy watching kids die. Unlike most people, I see the cleverness put into these Games, the Games' true meaning. Take twenty-four children away from their families, make their deaths as public and gruesome as possible, and do it all again next year. Sooner or later, the districts will get the message: _Don't fight back, don't ever raise a hand against us—because we can do this and so much more. _

It's brilliant.

And I hate it.

I sigh, running a hand through my coal-black hair. Without my Escort to piss off, it's awfully quiet. It was stupid to make him mad, I realize that. But how else am I supposed to act? Because of this evil society, I was condemned to a fate worse than death. Not exactly reaped, but basically the same thing.

And I'm scared. I try to act like it's not real, that I'm _not_ heading off to a city of people cheering for my demise...but it's hard. I'm just fourteen; I'm just a kid; I _don't_ want to die.

_Well, maybe you shouldn't have been dealing in adult affairs. _I ignore that annoying voice in my head.

"From how he reacted, it was as if _he_ was the one that cooked this food," I say to myself, rolling my eyes. I would get up and go to my room now, maybe even cry, but the Reaping Recaps will be on soon and I need to see my competition.

I'm not the type to sit back and let people walk all over me. I may end up without a head, killing my family in the process, but I won't lie down and wallow in depression. I've seen too many tributes go crazy during the Games, and I won't be one of them. My mind is literally the only thing I have going for me.

"Maybe he _did_ cook it. That'd be a plot twist."

I look up, and Michael's smiling at me. It's a smile peppered with sadness, but it's a smile nonetheless.

He almost looks familiar. It takes me a moment to realize why—and when I do, my reclusive nature starts to unwind. I'm talking too much, giving Michael the idea that I want to be friends or allies or something. I _can't_ be allies with Michael; he's a bloodbath, that much is certain, and getting attached to people isn't something I plan on doing.

_Not again. _It hurt the first time.

It'll kill me the next time.

* * *

**Breno Harmont, 17;**

**District Six Male. **

"Hello, citizens of Panem, and welcome to the Reaping Recaps for the Fifth annual Hunger Games!" Aeliana Devrine grins, enthusiastically waving at the cameras. She's the Hunger Games' Interviewer, and from the amount of applause she's getting, I can guess that she's really loved by those colorful Capitol people.

Yet another thing that divides the Capitol from the districts. In District Six, we don't have any _celebrities_ or anything like that. Not even a Victor to call our own. There's the mayor, sure, but nobody really jumped for joy whenever he greeted us.

Maybe because the one day that he truly _did_ greet us, two of our own were being shipped off to die.

And this year, I'm that lucky male.

It's scary, being a tribute for the Hunger Games, knowing that I'm expected to woo millions of people and then kill twenty-three others. The Games were always so far away that I could ignore them. And at the same time, it was always so close enough to snatch me up.

And after five years of ignoring them, I was finally caught. _At least I lived my life to the fullest, _I think, frowning.

Aeliana talks a bit more, complimenting a few districts for being standouts this year. Of course, District Six isn't one of them. But why would we be? With a thirteen-year-old girl and a boy like _me? _I'm surprised they didn't put us on the Bloodbath list.

"But anyway, let's start with District One, shall we?"

The screen cuts away from the Capitolite's smiling face, going to District One's Reaping. At this moment, I look away, down to my bowl of soup. What's the point of looking at some boy who'll be more handsome than me, or some beautiful girl I'll never understand?

The end result will be the same. A knife straight through my forehead.

Suddenly, my Capitol Escort walks in. Vita is her name, and on her unnatural pale face is a troubled expression. She sits down right in front of me, sighing, running a hand through those orange locks of hers. Chip and I always wondered whether or not it was her real hair.

It _is_, apparently. If the price of finally knowing wasn't my imminent death, I'd be pretty happy right now.

"Where's Ceres?" I ask. As soon as my District Partner and I walked onboard, Ceres mumbled something about crying to death and went off to her room. She hasn't come out since—and since it's time for lunch, Vita went to go see if she wanted to finally come and interact with us.

Apparently not.

"Ms. Cantrell said that she wasn't hungry," Vita responds, staring at the table. "This whole transition must be hard for her..."

She actually looks worried—which is endearing, if not irritating. _She_ was the one who pulled Ceres' slip out of that bowl of thousands. If Vita really cared, why would she agree to be an Escort in the first place?

Other tributes would probably try to sympathize with their Escorts, but I just can't do that. From appearances, Vita looks like a nice, friendly woman. But I can't go by appearances. It's easy to get lulled into a false sense of security because of a person's outer appearance, which is why I can never trust someone within the first few minutes of meeting them. Probably not even the first few days.

It's so easy to get hurt in this world. This sick, yet beautiful world.

Suddenly, Vita smiles, all the worry wiped from her artificial face. "Well, I guess we know which tribute I should focus on, now don't we?"

See? She doesn't care. Not about Ceres, and not about me.

If she cared, if anyone in the Capitol truly cared, I'd still have my two brothers. I wouldn't be here.

"District One was nice, as usual," Aeliana says, her yellow hair tilting a bit. A wig, obviously. "They seem different from earlier years, don't they?"

Pictures pop up, showing Adeline and Vesper of District One. They do look a bit different this year. Adeline doesn't look like a complete bitch, while Vesper doesn't look as conceited as the boy from last year.

But as I said before, first impressions don't matter. Like in my Reaping, I tried to act secure and confident, when I'm everything but. These Reapings are for the Capitol, not for the tributes.

Nothing for the tributes. Except death, that is.

"Let's look at District Two, shall we?"

A redheaded girl is reaped, stating her name as Echo Woods. She looks confident, and strong. _More confident than me, stronger than me_. Suddenly, a boy volunteers, just like last year. Kostos Sylett is his name—and he looks kind, but just as confident as Echo. Both will be threats, that's for sure. Two tributes I absolutely need to stay away from.

"Two strong tributes from District Two, as usual," says Vita, trying to make small talk. And because I'm a friendly person, if not a bit hardened, I force a smile on my face.

"You must love that. Stronger tributes mean more bloodshed."

"That's right!" Vita's exclaims, suddenly really cheerful. The bells on her ears jingle as she nods her head; if she were in the districts, and I was with Ilene, we would've attempted to steal them. "I'm so happy that you understand! Most tributes are so closed-minded, you know?"

_Closed-minded? Is that what she thinks?_

And that's why I hate the Capitol, and everyone from it. They've killed millions, including my brothers—yet, they don't think they've done anything wrong. They don't think they're _doing_ anything wrong.

Well, the district's may have started the violence, this may be _our_ fault—but this is still wrong.

The Capitol, the war, the Hunger Games—it's all _wrong_.


	7. Train Rides Part Two

**Train Rides Part Two**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games_

* * *

**Daniel Church, 17;**

**District Seven Male.**

"And now, for District Three!" Aeliana exclaims, her voice bright and bubbly.

The screen changes and shows the residents of District Three, their scrawny forms momentarily shocking me. I mean, District Seven isn't that well off either...but for them to be _that_ scrawny, how could they ever have a shot at victory?

_It could happen, _I tell myself, biting my lip. _It'd be wrong to cast them off as corpses already. I shouldn't do that. I'm not like the Capitol._

I'm nothing like the Capitol. Those people should be ashamed of themselves. Seriously, this isn't right. None of it is. Hoarding people inside districts and forcing them to work day and night isn't right. Kidnapping twenty-four kids and publically killing them isn't right.

I feel sorry for District Three. If I could, I'd help them. I _would_.

But instead, I'm riding on a train to the very people that endorse these kind of things. I'll have to fight for them, kill for them, do anything and everything for _them_.

The Capitol is so selfish. It's all for them. Everything for _them_.

Nothing for the districts. If I was in charge, I'd help them. I'd be there for them. Sometimes, that's all I want to do. To _help_ people. People like District Three, who live miserable lives inside of their districts, enslaved by a ruler that takes and kills two of their children annually.

_If I was in charge…_

"That's a bad thought, Daniel," I tell myself, shaking my head. Power corrupts people, and I'm not so self-righteous as to think I wouldn't be corrupted. That's the main reason I didn't let my little brother volunteer.

It's not even the fact that he could've died. If he won, he would have started another rebellion, and more and more lives would have been lost. And then, if he somehow led the rebellion to victory, there's no doubt in my mind that he would've gained power over Panem.

And while my brother isn't a bad person, I don't want him doing anything worse than what's already happening in this cursed country. He's too smart, and that's his fatal flaw.

The Games would change him.

But they won't change me. I'll go in as I am, and go out as I am.

The alternative would kill me. Literally.

When the tributes of District Three show on the screen—Tet Kender and Iris Logan—I'm momentarily overwhelmed. They're both so _young!_ How can the Capitol condone this? Why are they so cruel?

"Well, we know who _not_ to worry about," Tacita, our Capitol Escort, mumbles. Her voice is as monotone as ever. I glance at her, hiding my cold fury behind an indifferent face. "Well, what do you two think? I'm not going to continue talking if I'm not going to get a response."

"I'm going to assist them," I say immediately, ignoring both her and Calla's looks of astonishment. "It is absolutely repugnant of the Capitol to have those two kids fighting for their lives. It'd be distasteful _not_ to help them."

Tacita's surprised look turns into a deadpanned one. "You do realize that only one tribute will be coming out of the Arena, right?"

"Of course I do." I stand my ground, not trying to be too hostile with her. That's what's wrong with the world; too much hate and not enough love, too much fighting and not enough compromising. "But I'll get to that when it approaches."

Before Tacita can say something rude, Calla opens her mouth. "Why did you volunteer, Daniel?" She asks, her eyes boring into my own. "I mean, you and your little brother were easily one of the most well-off people in District Seven. There aren't many people who smith our axes when they get dull, y'know? It can't be for the money, right?"

She's right. If I were volunteering for the riches, that'd be the biggest mistake of my life. Luke and I don't need money of any kind. We're very well-known in District Seven for our blacksmithing abilities, which our father taught us a while back in District Two.

The reason we had to leave is a sad one. My parents tried to incite a rebellion in District Two, because most of the people there were too afraid of the Capitol to fight back. It failed, obviously, and my parents put us on a train to District Seven right before their capture and probable execution. Sometimes, I really want to believe that they're still alive, wanting desperately to see us...but I know that's just false hope.

I'm smart, and I know when things just aren't worth hoping for. Most of the time, at least.

"My younger brother had wanted to volunteer, even at his young age. I couldn't let him give up his life like that," I tell her, holding back a chuckle. Luke would literally roll his eyes if he heard me say something like this. He's too arrogant sometimes, and his death wasn't even something he considered.

But I considered it. And losing my little brother wasn't something I was going to let happen.

"Oh. That's...so sweet." Calla brightens up, showing a bit of her true self for the first time. She's been a bit reserved around me—because I volunteered for this, no doubt—but now that she knows the truth, knows that I'm not some sick individual, she feels she can be herself around me. And her true self is actually pretty sweet and kind, I bet.

Just like the majority of people in District Seven. When Luke and I moved from District Two to District Seven, we didn't know what to think. It was just so..._different_. The clothing was so distasteful to me, the people so unintelligent and naive compared to my brother and I. But we got used to it, and even started up a business.

They weren't the kind of people we grew up with—but they were _nice_, and that was all that eventually mattered to me. Nice people get so much farther in life than bad people.

_But do they? You're a tribute now, Daniel, and you'll have to eventually act like one. _I swallow those thoughts down my throat. I'm not going to change for the Capitol. I'll defend myself, but I'm not going to make it a goal to kill as many tributes as I can.

Unconsciously, I place my hands around the golden medallion, my _token_. Luke almost spent everything we own to make something like this. It's a...Plan B, you could say. When turned a certain way, this medallion will morph into a makeshift blade.

It's against the rules, but Luke didn't care. Anything to get ahead. I was a bit apprehensive on taking it, because honor and loyalty is everything to me.

But just like everyone else, I don't want to die.

That's not wrong, right?

* * *

**Zander Engres, 17;**

**District Eight Male.**

"And now, for District Four."

Aeliana's face is cut away, the television showing District Four's Reaping now. The boy, Caio Artelle, is reaped first, and he's definitely displeased about it. The girl from District Four volunteers for her little sister, though. Ula Dylan is her name, and other than being older than me, I don't see her as too much of a threat.

_A threat_. I almost snort, but I'm way too dignified for that. Father always taught me to wear a mask of complete calmness and control, no matter the situation. Even though the Reaping shocked me enough to momentarily break down my walls, I'm not going to embarrass him again. Just because I'm being shipped off to the Capitol, about to partake in a battle royale, doesn't mean I'm going to let his teachings go to waste.

I don't want him to be disappointed in me. All I want to do is please him. Even during the Goodbyes, though, he still had that cold look on his face. Like I'm a failure, like I'll always be a failure, like I'm just a worthless disappointment—

_No. He doesn't think that. Just continue doing what you do, Zan, and he'll eventually come along._

Yeah, my father will appreciate me eventually. Eventually...

...But I don't have much time left, do I? I almost forgot, I'm about to be in the _Hunger Games_. The Hunger Games, where twenty-three tributes meet a gruesome end. The Hunger Games, where I could _die_.

Some sort of noise leaves my throat, something akin to fear—but before anyone can look and see why, I quickly put on my indifferent facade. _Don't show fear, _my father always says. _Don't show weakness of any kind, Zander._

Even though this is a complete nightmare, I'm not going to let my emotions get the better of me.

"Are you okay, Zander?" Kaya asks, her big blue eyes showing a hint of worry. But I don't want this stupid girl to be worried about me; if anyone's supposed to be worried, I'd rather it be my father.

I sit up just a bit straighter, just like I was taught. _Always show your dominance, Zander. You deserve respect._

"I'm fine." My reply is terse. I don't want her thinking that she can be friendly to me. For all I care, she can drop dead.

This entire country can drop dead, actually. I don't care about anyone but myself. _And my father. Just because he may sorta forget about you, don't forget about him. Never forget about him._

She pauses for a moment, before giving me a wary smile. "Are you sure? Personally, I'm a wreck right now, and I'd love for someone to talk—"

"Well then talk to Sabina," I interrupt, gesturing towards our Capitol Escort. She's completely ignoring us, content to stuffing herself with a variety of colorful foods. Fatass Capitol freak.

Kaya bites her lip. "Could you speak a bit louder? I heard you, but not very loudly, and working in the factories—"

"I don't care!" I say, a lot louder so her ears can pick up every single syllable. "I don't want to talk to you! You're bothering me, and I'd like for you to leave me alone and _shut up!_ Did you catch that?"

"Well—!" Kaya's eyes flash in anger. She's just about to say something scathing, I can tell, but suddenly she bites her lip and stares at the table instead. "Okay, I get it. You're pissed off about being reaped—and I am, too. You just look like a cool guy, y'know, and I just didn't want you wallowing in despair during our time here. I'll, um, give you time to cool off?"

I don't respond. She's got a fiery side, I can tell, but she's too nice for my liking. Nice people like her are the absolute first ones to die. And I don't want any part of it. I deserve to win the Hunger Games; I can't be preoccupied with the state of my allies or whatever.

In the end, they'll all be dead. Because I have to win. Kaya can die. The pair from District Four can die. Everyone in the goddamned Capitol can die for all I care.

District Five shows up on the television now. Thirteen-year-old Michael Riverbee and fourteen-year-old Alexandra Fearn, the latter volunteering for some odd reason. For a quick second, Michael and Alexandra both remind me of myself a bit.

Michael's crying onstage, something I used to do a lot when my mother was blasted to bits. She was the closest person in my life—and just like that, she was gone. And Alexandra's smiling at the camera like she's trying to get the attention of somebody important to her. I always did crazy things to get my father's attention, hence the multiple scratches on my face. In the end, though, my quest for acknowledgment failed—and so will hers. Volunteering will be the literal death of her.

"That's sad," Kaya mumbles, mainly to herself more than to me. "They're so young. They don't deserve this..."

And just like that, a plan starts to form. I don't know why those words trigger something in me, but they do. I'll use Kaya to act as a shield while I go through the Games safe and sound. She's so nice and pathetic, she won't suspect a thing. It's wrong, probably, but I'm a cunning person when I have to be.

And right now, I have to be. Because I deserve to win.

I deserve to win the Hunger Games.

And then, my father will finally be proud of me.

I can't lose control; I can't fail.

* * *

**Terrance Vallier, 16;**

**District Nine Male.**

Aeliana Devrine grins at the cameras. "The competition seems to be heating up, everyone. But now, let's get to District Six."

I stare at the television, leaning in a bit. If I'm going to succeed, I need to see my competition, analyze their every action. Even the tributes of District Twelve could prove dangerous, and I'll need every advantage I can get.

The screen changes, and the people of District Six seem to stare right back at me. Ignoring their soulless eyes, I focus on the orange-haired Escort pulling out a slip. The male is called: seventeen-year-old Breno Harmont. He looks pretty calm for a boy just condemned to death—but I can see through that facade a mile away. Immediately, multiple scenarios of his death come to mind, each of them by the hands of yours truly.

No, I don't _want_ to kill him. But it's best I get used to the idea of my weapon slicing into another body. What has to be done will be done; there's no emotional satisfaction at all, it just _is_.

If I'm going to win the Hunger Games, I'll have to kill. Especially if I truly want the Capitol's assistance. I'm not going to be one of those foolish tributes, the ones that think they can get through this without a drop of blood on their hands.

Just like the tributes before him, Breno Harmont means absolutely nothing to me. Nobody means anything to me, if I were to be brutally honest. With no parents, with no friends, I've had to provide for myself for as long as I can remember. I wasn't going to end up as one of those sniveling children, begging for food until they eventually starved to death.

Just like how I'm not going to end up as a causality, my body scooped up and sent back to poor District Nine. There'd be nobody there to accept it—except Dalton, I guess, but they wouldn't give him my body. I guess I'd be cremated in the Capitol, maybe even used as a Mutt for the next—

Okay, I'm not letting my train of thought lead me _there_. I'm not going to die, and that's final. If I can build myself up from the ashes in District Nine, I can kill twenty-three others and return home. I know I can. I just need to work hard enough.

_But you're always working hard. How much harder can you work before you drop?_

_As hard as I have to_, I tell myself.

Thirteen-year-old Ceres Cantrell is reaped as District Six's female tribute, and for a quick second, I bow my head, giving a silent prayer to the soon-to-be corpse. I may be a bit weathered, but I'm not a monster. I just do what I have to do to survive in this world.

The Capitol wants a monster as their Victor, but I'm not going to be that. I may be "pro-Capitol" to an extent, but that doesn't mean I'm going to change myself for them.

I'll change for nobody.

Sitting on the couch right beside me is Toren, her eyes red. When we first got on this train, she cried—but only for a bit, because not even thirty minutes later, she was right back in here requesting food. She seems tough, but there must be something more to her. Something nice, something I can manipulate to my advantage.

I wouldn't call myself a manipulative person, but I _would_ call myself intelligent. I take every opportunity I get and use it to further myself, because not doing that would just get me killed.

When District Seven appears on-screen, seventeen-year-old Calla Mallow is immediately reaped. I focus on her and her only, noting the way she walks and _everything_. The girl from District Four has a messed up leg, which won't be hard at all to use to my advantage. While Calla doesn't look like she has any obvious weaknesses, she doesn't have any obvious strengths either.

I'll have to observe her more during training.

"She looks like a good ally," Toren murmurs, more to herself than to me—but I hear it all the same.

I can't stop myself from snorting. "Until she ends up chopping off your head."

Her head whips around so fast, I'm surprised it doesn't swing off. "Excuse me?" She says, her brows furrowed. "What are you trying to say?"

I roll my eyes, ignoring my District Partner. Arguing with Toren would be pointless, and I don't make it a habit to do pointless things. They just waste time and energy, time and energy that could be used elsewhere.

Back in District Seven, a boy tries to volunteer, but then seventeen-year-old Daniel Church beats him to the punch. By the way he's smiling at the cameras, it's obvious that volunteering isn't as glamorous an idea as the District Two boy made it seem.

_I can use that against him somehow. I know I can._

All it usually takes is a bit of thinking, and nothing is impossible. Like how I "sided with the Capitol" during the war. Without my intelligence, I would've never thought to trick the Peacekeepers like that. I would've never gotten back on my feet.

Without my intelligence, I would've died a long time ago.

I look down at the medallion wrapped around my neck. Dalton gave it to me during the Goodbyes; it's his Peacekeeper Medallion, the one he got for excellence overall. He sees it as sentimental, something to help me remember him by.

But I don't see it the same way. I see it as a way to flaunt my allegiance to the Capitol. How could they kill one of their supporters? The Hunger Games are for the rebels. And I'm not a rebel.

_Neither are you on their side, Terrance. _But that doesn't matter. I'm an opportunist.

I'll use this opportunity, the _Hunger Games_, to make more of myself.

What must be done will be done. That's what I always say, anyway.

* * *

**London Tienna, 18;**

**District Ten Female.**

The sun is slowly coming down, the sky turning a deep shade of purple. The trees pass by in a dark green blur. For the umpteenth time today, I'm wishing I was back in District Ten. During this time of the night, Lucas and I would be snuggling together, watching the stars flashing in the night sky.

I press a hand on the window, a weird feeling of dread in my chest. It's like a very bad breakup—or worse, it's like I've been reaped for the Hunger Games.

_Because you have been reaped for the Hunger Games._

Oh, right.

I look away from the window, not wanting to wallow in self-pity for much longer. I'm not normally like this. I'm London Tienna—happy, enthusiastic, loving London. I'm not this sad, depressing girl. I'm _never_ this sad, depressing girl.

Standing up, I see to my left Ricky watching the television. To be honest, I haven't paid much attention to the Reaping Recaps. When my District Partner and I first got on this train, I ate so much food that the Hunger Games were momentarily forgotten. And then, when I felt my stomach wouldn't last much longer, I sat over by the window and fought sleep. Watching the wildlife go by in a blur is one of the most boring things in the world—but honestly, I needed a bit of that calmness.

_...Watching the wildlife go by. Wildlife. Like pigs. Like the pigs in District Ten._ I shut my eyes, hitting myself in the head. I need to stop thinking about District Ten! That won't help me. It won't help me. It won't...

...But what will? My Escort? Ricky? _Another_ tribute?

I don't know. I'm one of the smartest kids in school, yet I don't know the one thing that'll keep me alive. My dad would know; though he's not exactly the happiest soul, he gives the best advice. And mom, she'd be working tirelessly as usual. She'd definitely find a way to stay alive throughout this.

_Dammit, I miss them. I miss them already. I even miss my annoying little sister..._

...I'm getting depressed again. Forcing a smile on my face, I march over to where Ricky is, sitting on the couch right next to him. He gives me a quick glance, before his face turns crimson red and he looks away.

I bite back a laugh. That's so cute! _Cute, like Lucas. I wonder what he's doing without me right now? If I die, will he find a new girlfriend? How long will that take him? A minute? An hour? A day, a week, a month?_

Blinking back the tears, I force the thought out of my mind. _No crying, London!_ I haven't cried yet, and I'm sure not going to cry now. Besides, I'm going to...win. Yeah, I'm going to win, so there's no reason to cry...

_I'm going to win the Hunger Games._

"And now, for District Eight," says Aeliana Devrine on the TV. The chubby Escort reaps the female first: sixteen-year-old Kaya Vause. With each step she makes to the stage, it's like watching a window crack further and further until there's nothing left but dust. It's sad, really—but I'm not in the position to pity her. Especially considering we're in the same boat here. The boy is reaped next: seventeen-year-old Zander Engres. He's in complete shock, walking to the stage with his mouth wide open.

Despite myself, I start snickering. Ricky gives me a look—but hey, don't blame me! It _is_ pretty funny.

"Now that I think about it..." I say, nudging my District Partner with my elbow. He turns to look at me, his face getting redder by the second.

"Huh?"

"From this perspective, it makes us seem like we're from the Capitol, watching the Reapings together." I laugh some more. I don't know why, but for some reason, it's just so funny! Trying to stop my stomach from cramping, I put on the best Capitol impersonation I can think of. "I'll bet my ring finger that Mr. Engres falls _right_ off the pedestal! Ohohoho!"

Ricky cracks a small smile, but doesn't say anything in response. That's fine, though. I'm not really looking for a conversation, or even an ally. I'm just looking for a distraction, no matter how minimal it may be.

District Nine appears on-screen next, their endless fields seeming like a paradise compared to the Square. The Escort reaps sixteen-year-old Terrance Vallier first. He's pretty cute, I admit, even though he's a bit younger than me. The female tribute is reaped next: fifteen-year-old Toren Ingalls. She doesn't even look like she can fully comprehend what just happened to her. Her hair is so messy, too; I'd rather _die_ than look like that on national television.

...That was a really bad choice of words.

Now that I think about it, though, I wonder how _I'll_ look? Hopefully not too crazy; running away was my first instinct, and punching that Peacekeeper was just the first thing that came to mind. The more I think about my Reapings, the less and less I want to see it.

But suddenly, Rufus walks in, just as our district is displayed on the TV. He's our crazy Capitol Escort, the one that technically condemned us to this awful fate. Yet, for some reason, I just can't hate him. He's been nothing but nice to us this entire time—and hating people isn't something I do in the first place.

I just can't help but adore other people, even when they're rude. _So how do you expect to kill them, London?_

I don't know. I don't know a lot of things, apparently.

"Okay, so you two won't believe this," he says, his communication-device-thingy pressed against his ear. He explained the concept to us a while ago, but it just seemed so farfetched that I couldn't believe it.

But I need to learn to stop underestimating the Capitol—because from what I can see, they can do anything.

"The people _love_ you, London. Other than the boy from District Two, you're one of the Capitol's favorite!"

"...Huh?" His words take me by complete surprise. For a moment, it feels like I'm falling, like I've just been given a meal too big for my stomach. "I'm...one of their favorites? But why? _How?_"

"When you were reaped, you ran, you fought back. Even though it wasn't the best image, it proved that you have what it takes to defend yourself. And your looks certainly didn't hurt the matter, either." Rufus has a big smile on his face as he nears me, placing a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder. "They _love_ you, London. Please don't screw this up. You may be exactly what District Ten needs."

I feel something in my chest, something strong and suffocating and..._good_. I suddenly feel _good_. Because I have a shot at victory, a better shot than most tributes have. Usually, I'm the most self-confident girl you'd ever meet—but this is the Hunger Games, and things are different.

_I_ have to be different. I can't afford to be cocky anymore, I at least have the common sense for that. But I _can_ be confident in myself. And confidence is one thing I have plenty of.

I glance at Ricky. He's staring at the television again, but the small frown on his face is as clear as day. It must suck, not being as liked as your District Partner—but I don't want him to think he's any less than me. I don't want him to be intimidated by me.

Because I'm just a normal girl. I'm not a killer, I wouldn't even call myself a threat. But I'm not giving up, either, and that's where my true strength comes from.

The Hunger Games are a curse—but I know I can win. Nothing more than fate has brought me here. Why throw someone like me into an arena if I don't have what it takes?

So I'm going to win.

_I have to._

* * *

**Meeko Brighton, 14;**

**District Eleven Female.**

For the umpteenth time today, Priscilla—our Escort—gives Koda a look that'd shatter glass. "Can you please _stop_ moving?" She demands, her voice high and frilly.

The Capitol's accents have always intrigued me a bit. Why do they talk in such high voices? Why do they put so much emphasis on their _S _words? My accent is a bit different than the others in District Eleven—but my skin color is an abnormality as well, so I guess it makes sense.

Immediately, Koda stops tapping his feet, avoiding Priscilla's gaze and looking down to the table. After many hours of being around Koda for today, I've come up with the solution that he's _scared_ of the Capitol people. And why wouldn't he? Once a year, these crazily-dressed people come to our district and kill two of our own people. Even the Orphanage Keepers have started threatening us with the Hunger Games.

Ironic how her threats just became a reality. It's so funny that I could _die_.

Note the sarcasm, please.

"That's better." Priscilla goes right back to reading her magazine. It's something about Capitol fashion, I believe. "Honestly, Koda, why can't you be more like Meeko? She's quiet, and she's smart enough not to bother other people when they _explicitly_ don't want to be bothered."

"But—" Koda begins, yet he's instantly cut off by Priscilla's hand right up in his face.

"There are no butts. Today has not been a great day, mind you," she says, motioning to the mop of hair on her head. It's pretty long; It goes all the way down to her knees. It got pretty drenched during that storm in District Eleven, though, and obviously that put her in a horrible mood. "I just wanted a moment of peace, but of course that's impossible when you're talking every five seconds. And on the off-chance that you're not talking, you're moving. Does District Eleven fail to raise their children correctly?"

_Says the lady that chooses two kids to die. Annually. _I dislike the Capitol citizens—and Priscilla is a good example on why. They're snooty, and arrogant, and have less common sense than an _ant_.

Her patronizing tone is the worst. She thinks she's better than us, just because she was born in the winning side of the war. I don't use the word _hate_ very often, but by the end of my time in the Capitol, I'm pretty sure I'm going to start.

I want to tell Priscilla off, tell her that Koda has ADHD and can't help how he is. I want to tell her that Koda doesn't have any parents to truly raise him, because his father left before he was even born and his mother was thrown in prison when he was only six-years-old. I want to tell her how much I dislike her, how much I dislike this situation, how much I just want to go back to District Eleven and live the rest of my life in peace.

It's not a good district at all, yet it's not a bad one. I don't like it, yet I don't dislike it. District Eleven is the only place I've known—and that's where I want to be.

Even though I want to explain all of this to her, I don't. All I do is place a hand on Koda's lap, silently comforting him, just like how I'd do when one of the Keepers yelled or hit him. I don't need to use my words to express my feelings. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not crippled, I'm _not_ useless.

There's silence on the train, other than the Reaping Recaps. Honestly, it's really late now, and Koda and I should be heading off to bed. But other than our own Reapings, we still have yet seen District Twelve.

I know that I'm just fooling myself by thinking someone like me stands a shot at this, but I just can't help but try. Because if I don't try, there's no way I'll succeed. Even though the odds are completely against me, they're still better odds than if I just gave up.

Giving up isn't in my blood, you could say. When my grandfather passed away in his sleep, I could tell he fought to the very end. And when my father stole those crops to feed us, getting whipped to death in the process, he wasn't giving up. It's easy to starve in District Eleven, but the determination my family had is the only reason I'm still alive now.

"And now, for District Eleven."

The storm we had during the Reaping was one of the bad ones. Everyone was getting drenched—but the Capitol didn't care. All they wanted was their tributes. This year, though, District Eleven got off easy. Two orphans were reaped. No families to mourn. That's the best thing that could happen during a Reaping, you could say.

Or rather, it'd be good to reap a Victor. _Will I be that Victor? Doubtful. But I'm still going to try._

Priscilla reaps Stag first—and for a moment, I'm just stuck in my own space, staring at the older boy's face. As cliché as it may be, I've had a...crush on him since forever. I know that he's four years older than me, and that he and Koda are closer than we'd ever be...

But I'm still a teenage girl. Don't judge me.

Koda volunteers, which probably has the entirety of Panem rolling in laughter. And then I'm reaped, my expression closed off. Aeliana says a few things about us, and then it's on to District Twelve.

"Why do they do this again?" Koda asks, looking away from the screen and to Priscilla. She groans, slamming her magazine on the table.

"Because your people decided to have a war, and then you lost," she answers, every bit bitter. "And as punishment for going against the Capitol, we have the Hunger Games. Don't you listen to the Treaty of Treason?"

Koda blinks. "What's that?"

Priscilla then stands up, sighing. "It's nothing. Just go to bed. When you wake up, we'll be heading into the Capitol. So just go to bed, okay?" And with that, she storms away, that mess of hair dragging on the floor.

Koda stares after her—and then, he jumps up, grinning. "Phew, I was wondering when she'd leave! Why is she so mean, Meeko?"

As usual, I don't answer. I get up from my seat, walking down the hall to my bedroom. I know sleep may never come, but I desperately need some time to myself. Koda follows me down the hall, but stops in front of his own room.

I stare at him. He stares at me. After tonight, all of this will be real. Both of us heading to a place that'll force us to kill each other. It's horrible, inhumane—but it's Panem, and I've gotten used to life screwing me over.

"Goodnight, Meeko."

_Goodnight, Koda._

Tonight, it can feel like we're still in District Eleven, still in the orphanage, still friends.

But tomorrow, we'll have to adapt to being tributes.

* * *

**Eion Daltier, 18;**

**District Twelve Male.**

I lay in the comfy Capitol bed, staring at the ceiling. Even though it's beyond dark, my eyes have adjusted enough to see the swirly patterns aligning the walls. It's completely silent in my room, but I can still hear Isabel's crying through the wall.

It sucks. All of this sucks. The Reaping, right now, and everything in-between.

It just _sucks_.

I grab the iron chain off of my wrist, holding it above my face. It's dark, but the chain gives off a small amount of shine. Isn't that, like, some sort of literary technique? In the darkness, even this old iron chain can give off a small bit of light. If something like this can fight against the darkness, then can't I?

_I can_. Rolling to my side, I sigh, letting my eyes close for the first time since I've gotten in bed. _I may be from the poorest, weakest district—but I can still fight against the Capitol. I can still fight for my life._

And isn't that all I want? To _live? _I mean, I'm just a normal teenage boy. The only weapon I've ever held is a butter knife, and I definitely wasn't trying to kill anyone with _that_. I've gotten in trouble a few times during school, yeah, but I never actually got in a fight with anyone. Compared to the other tributes I saw during the Reaping Recaps, I'm as normal as they come.

But that's fine, right? I'm not gonna lay here and lie to myself. If I can't do something, then I can't do it. If I _can_ do something, well, I can do it. That's all there is to it, honestly.

_But what can I do to stay alive? _That's the real question. The tributes from District Two have their training, but what do us from District Twelve have? At least the Seam kids know how it feels to starve—but I'm not from the Seam, I've grown up with a comfortable life compared to most people in my district.

I furrow my brows, suddenly feeling irritated. Isabel's crying hasn't let up, and I doubt it's going to anytime soon—but that's definitely not the reason I'm getting frustrated. The reality of everything is slowly catching up to me. And I'm scared.

I'm going into the Hunger Games.

And I'm scared.

But how am I _supposed_ to feel? _Happy? _I doubt anyone in my position would be happy. And if they are, then something's really wrong with them. I'm just an eighteen-year-old guy from District Twelve. Being reaped was always a possibility, which is the reason why I tried to live my life to the fullest.

Making friends wherever I went, exploring the district when I got bored, and even getting in trouble with adults were all things that I loved doing. Because I realized, a long time ago, that I wouldn't be a teenager forever. That one day, I'd grow up, build a family of my own, and have to start thinking responsibly.

I just wish it didn't have to happen so soon—and in the worst way possible, too.

"CAN YOU _SHUT UP_ IN THERE, BRAT?!"

I jump, surprised by my Escort's sudden outburst. And then, I'm angry, because Nerva has _no right_ to speak to Isabel that way. He just basically ruined her life! If she wants to cry, then she has every reason to. Hell, I don't even know why _I'm_ not crying yet. I feel sucky, but the tears just haven't come yet.

"WHY DON'T _YOU_ SHUT UP AND LEAVE HER ALONE?!" I scream, right back at him. I don't miss the way my voice cracks mid-sentence, but I don't care. If I'm going to cry, I'm going to cry. Just like Isabel, I have every reason to be crying right now.

My whole life was just _stolen_ from me. And I don't want to die.

I'm just a teenage boy; I really don't want to die.

But still, what am I supposed to do? Coming from District Twelve, I don't have a lick of training. I don't even know how to properly hold a knife, much less a giant weapon! How am I supposed to survive?

The answer comes out of nowhere: _With allies. _For a moment, I ponder this thought, feeling the soothing hands of sleep reaching at my consciousness. _Yeah, allies would definitely help me get further than if I was alone. But who could I ally with? I'll definitely ask Isabel tomorrow, but she's the only person I can probably trust..._

Sleep starts catching up fast—and before I know it, it's taking a lot of effort to stay conscious. Melancholic thoughts start filling up my mind, just when I feel the entire world start to drift away.

If only I spent more time with the people I love.

Because, win or lose, nothing will be the same anymore.

I'm going to be competing in the Hunger Games—and the moment that gong goes off, I'll no longer be a teenager.

I'll be a tribute.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey, guys! Sorry for the mini-hiatus I had going on. Life was hectic, FF was hectic, and overall my laziness prevented me from finishing this sooner. BUT here it is. I hope you enjoyed?**

**Sorry, but I split the Train Rides in two chapters because having it all in one chapter was just way too long. I did a 12 POVs because I wanted to see who I was comfortable with writing, and who I needed to work really hard on. Of course, this was only half of the tributes. The chariot rides will also be two chapters: one chapter for the chariot prep, and the second chapter for the actual chariot rides, 6 POVs each. And then, after the chariots, I'm guessing each chapter will have 4 POVs? That's my plan, anyway. If you have any other questions, just send me a pm.**

**And yeah, some tributes may not act like you envisioned them to. That's because, in my opinion, a tribute that's always happy and cheerful will not be happy and cheerful right after they got reaped. The next day, yeah, I understand them acting as who they are. But during the train rides, I think tributes are going to be too deep in thought and depressed. So yeah. Next chapter, though, a tribute that acts happy and enthusiastic WILL act happy and enthusiastic. I just thought it'd be stupid to have someone like Iris laughing when they were just crying onstage.**

**And yeah. I'd really, really, REALLY love a review? Personally, my writing irks me at moments, so I'd like to know what you all think about it. I'd also like to know what you all think of the tributes featured in these two chapters.**

**So yeah! I really hope you enjoyed?**

**Bye-nii~**


	8. Chariot Prep

**Chariot Prep**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Isabel Abriani, 18;**

**District Twelve Female.**

I'm awoken from my slumber by a banging on the door. Feeling strangely empty and disoriented, I slowly sit up, rubbing my eyes. _Who's knocking on my door like that?_ I yawn, starting to stretch. _And why does the bed feels different than usual..?_

I'm about to get up and open the door, but in my sleepy state, a thought comes to mind. My mother nor my father would knock that hard. And I don't normally lock my door—that's disrespectful, considering it's their house and not mine. So is it my brother, Stefan? He's always messing with me, always trying to wind me up. And waking me up like this is something that'd definitely wind me up.

But then, that's when I hear the screaming.

"_Hey!_ I know good and well you hear me, damn brat!" Nerva screams, the knocking getting harder and harder. At this point, the dead feeling inside, the unnatural feel of the bed, the locked door—it all starts making sense. "Open this door right now!"

Before I know it, the familiar sting of tears in my eyes comes back. I put my hands over my face, biting my lip to stop from crying out. _I'm not at home. I'm in the tribute train. I'm almost at the Capitol._

_I've been reaped for the Hunger Games. _

_I'm going to die._

Nerva continues to scream profanities at me, but it all starts tuning out after a while. All I can think about, all I can focus on, is my impending doom. And that's not even the worst part. Hundreds, thousands, _millions_ of people will be watching as the life drains out of my eyes, as I take my last breath.

If I wasn't from District Twelve, I'd have hope. If I wasn't from the poorest, least-populated, most unprepared district, I'd have at least a smidgen of hope that I can return home.

But I am from District Twelve—and even though it's only been five years, we've come to the sad conclusion that the Hunger Games are a death penalty. Nothing more, and nothing less. Our tributes can't even survive the Bloodbath. If the teenagers prior to me can't do it, then how can someone like me?

I can't. I'm going to die; I'm going to die; I'm going to _die_.

_But that doesn't mean you can't try, Isabel._

"Ahem."

Brought back to reality, I take my hands out of my face and look up. Standing over me is Nerva, his red eyes glaring a hole into my brain. _Please don't look at me like that, _I want to say, breaking eye contact. _Don't look at me like I'm nothing more than trash. I just want to be normal like everybody else. _Standing behind him is an Avox, a ring of keys in her pale hands. Even her light blue eyes stare at me with pity, because all she sees is a soon-to-be corpse. Even the lady with no tongue sees me as inferior.

I shift uncomfortably. I hate when multiple people look at me. I hate how they judge me. That's why I cried during the Reapings—not because I was just condemned to a future of unimaginable pain and suffering, but because I could _feel_ the millions of eyes on me. Judging my appearance, my worth, whether they should bet on me or not. And then, after the Recaps, I cried some more because Aeliana was obviously unimpressed with me.

And when the star of Panem was unimpressed with you, _everyone_ was unimpressed with you. That's what Nerva said, anyway. My situation grew in just one day to wondering whether the other girls saw me as their equal to whether the Capitol saw me as anything but a Bloodbath.

Adjusting is more harder than anyone could imagine.

"Do you understand how long I was standing outside, banging on your fucking door?" He questions, seething with rage.

For a moment, I contemplate what to say. Would saying _yes_ get me yelled at more? Would saying _no_ make me sound stupid? What about apologizing? Would he still be angry?

I don't want to make people mad, especially someone important like my Escort. He can get me sponsors, too. He can help me. Even though I resent him, voicing my opinions aren't something I normally do.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, meeting his gaze for half-a-second before looking away again. "I'm really sorry. You, um, look really nice this morning..." For some reason, the Avox lady gives a small smile at that, while my Escort does everything but.

"I look nice _every_ morning," he says, crossing his arms. "But that's beside the point, brat. I _refuse_ to deal with you if you're just going to go around whimpering every five fucking seconds. We'll be arriving to the Capitol in under an hour, so I expect you to change that mentality of yours before we do so. Do you understand me, or are you stupid as well as useless?"

I look down to my gray covers. _Wrong answer, Isabel. _Before I can mumble another apology, though, Eion pokes his head through the door.

"Can you leave her alone?!" He yells, glaring. Unlike mine, his cheeks aren't tear-stained whatsoever. His hair is horribly messy—but it's a good look for someone like Eion. "Seriously, all of your screaming woke me up! Stop yelling at her all the time, bastard!"

"Why, you..!" Nerva's about to say something really rude to my District Partner, I can tell. But suddenly, he stops himself. He pushes past Eion and the Avox, mumbling. "Stupid pair of brats this year..."

Eion glares after him—but then his gaze lands on me, and it softens considerably. I like my District Partner, I really do. Whenever he looks at me, his eyes only show immeasurable kindness. He even sticks up for me, knowing full-well that Nerva is our only way of sponsors. I still feel a bit inferior compared to him, but he doesn't have an air of superiority like most of the people I've grown up around.

"Thank you, Eion." I smile. It's not one of those smiles I give just to make others feel better, when _I'm_ the one that truly needs help. It's genuine, reserved for genuine people.

If only everyone were like him. If only everyone could see how much I want to be appreciated, how much I want to be normal like them.

But they can't.

And because of it, I'm constantly suffering. And now that I'm a tribute, now that I'm going to be in the Hunger Games, it's only going to get worse.

* * *

**Koda Samuels, 12;**

**District Eleven Male.**

"What's that?" I ask, pointing at a yellow box sitting on the dining table. Priscilla glances up from her magazine, but then she just sighs. Is she mad again? Why is she always in a bad mood?

She reminds me of the Orphanage Keepers, but just way more colorful. They always seemed to be in the worst of moods, and would yell at me whenever I did the smallest of things wrong. Sure, some of them were nice, but the older ones always had something nasty to say to me.

...Is Priscilla an old lady? She doesn't look so old, but a lot of the older boys in District Eleven told me how people from the Capitol alter their appearances to look different. Is she one of those people?

"Priscilla, how old are you?" I ask—and it's like the air in the room vanishes. Meeko looks up from her eggs and stares at me, while my Escort drops her magazine to the table. Her pretty face is contorted into a look of absolute shock.

"What does that have to do with _anything?_" She demands, before she scowls. "It's none of your business what age I am!"

I tilt my head, totally confused. Why did that set her off? Why does everything I do irritate her?

"You just act like an old lady," I try to explain. "Like the ones in my orphanage, so—"

Priscilla groans, cutting me off. Before I can ask why she's mad again, she gets up from her seat and stomps right out of the train car into a different one. With her gone, it's like the tension dissipates, like I can breathe without being glared at. Meeko goes back to silently eating, while a grin creeps on my face.

Without my Escort in the room, it almost doesn't feel like I'm going into the Hunger Games. It just feels like a regular morning—well, if you don't mention the fact that we're on a train heading to the Capitol. _The Capitol. _I shudder, the smile wiping off my face. The older kids would always tell scary stories about the people in the Capitol, like how they're all secretly monsters with fake skin to look human.

And honestly, I believe them! Priscilla isn't as scary as I thought she'd be—but with all the makeup on her face, it's hard not to think she's hiding something. Is her real face so hideous that she has to wear a fake one to keep people from being scared?

I'll have to ask her the next time I see her. Let's just hope she doesn't get mad at me.

Suddenly, something outside catches my eye. I stare out the window, watching as the outside world goes by in a blur. But then, after a few seconds, I see it again. _Buildings_. Buildings that look like glass, buildings that look like they're touching the sky. Is... Is this the Capitol?

Despite my fear, I jump up from my seat and rush over to get a better view. "Meeko, look! It's the Capitol! We've made it to the Capitol!" She looks up from her plate, her eyes widened as she walks over to stand besides me.

Around the city is a _large_ body of water, water that I'd totally drown in if I got pushed inside. I can't swim for the life of me. The Capitol, though, is like nothing I've ever seen before. Huge, glass buildings that tower above everything. Large streets that look like they could hold District Eleven's entire population. Gigantic balloons flying in the air, words on them that say "_welcome_" or something like that.

And that's when I see the sea of color that our train will have to soon pass by. It's when we're almost there that I realize it's not color, but _people_. Actual _people! _Their cheers hit my ears like a hammer. Are… Are they cheering for Meeko and I? The older boys always told me that the Capitol didn't care about District Eleven, though.

Were they wrong?

The train draws closer and closer, and that's when I see my first Capitol citizen. The lady has dark brown skin and dark eyes, but that's where the normal ends and the strange begins. Her head is shaved completely, red feathers cascading down her face instead of hair. On her forehead and around her eyes are blue paint, and on her lips is a mixture of red and blue lipstick. Her earrings are these big orange balls, with more multi-colored feathers coming from it.

If I saw her at the orphanage, I'd scream and run for my life.

"Ah!" I jump back, breathing hard. A sense of fear runs all throughout my body, the lady's image flashing in my mind. She was _terrifying! _Is that how everyone in the Capitol looks? Am I going to have to see her again?

Thousands of questions buzz inside of my mind, all of them going unanswered before a new one pops up. _Is she going to be there when I get off the train? Is she going to be there when I go to bed tonight? What if she's on the train right now? What if she can teleport, and she's going to be __**right**__ there when I turn around?_

_What if she hurts me?_

_What if she hurts Meeko?_

I gulp, clenching and unclenching my hands to somehow calm myself down. But it doesn't work. I just saw my first Capitol person, other than Priscilla, and I'm _scared_. It's no secret in District Eleven that the Capitol people are cruel. What if they try to hurt Meeko and I? What am I going to do?

Stag was right; the Capitol people _are _monsters. Suddenly, more than the feeling of fear, I feel sick. I feel like I'm about to puke. Why did I volunteer for Stag?

The answer hits me like a bag of bricks.

_Because you didn't want him to die. _

I could ignore it for awhile, but not anymore. Not after seeing that lady. Meeko and I aren't going to the Capitol for no reason. We're going so we can die in the Hunger Games.

I feel something stinging in my eyes, but I wipe at it before anything else can happen. I don't usually ever cry—but now that I took Stag's place, now that I'm going into the Hunger Games, I can't help but feel the tentacles of dread wrap around my body.

I volunteered so that my big brother wouldn't die.

I volunteered so that I could die instead.

_But I don't want to die._

* * *

**Ricky Laris, 18;**

**District Ten Male.**

"And this is where you two will separate," says Rufus, placing a hand on my shoulder. We're inside of the Remake Center—as my Escort so affectionately calls it.

After getting off the train, Rufus and a few Peacekeepers led London and I to a dark building. It stood out greatly, considering everything else in the Capitol is a spectrum of color. I was completely overwhelmed at how big the streets were, and don't even get me _started_ on the buildings.

It was almost like we were in some sort of parade. A crowd of Capitolites followed us the entire way to the Remake Center, some holding signs that said "_Go London!_" or "_District Ten for Victory!_" I didn't know how to respond, so I just kept my head down and let London soak up the limelight.

And my District Partner certainly used that opportunity to her advantage. She got over her shock fast and waved at the crowd of Capitol citizens, who seemed totally overjoyed to get her attention. If there was anybody in that crowd who seriously remembered me—well, I'm pretty sure they don't remember me now.

And I'm fine with that. I really am. I'm not the type of person to want people's attention. If London wants it, she can have it. I don't want to get in her way or anything...

_Which is why you'll die, Ricky. She'll gain all the sponsors, and you'll be forgotten, and then you'll die._

I shake off those negative thoughts, staring at the door in front of me. _D10 Male_ is written in red ink.

"Okay, so let's get a few things straightened out before I send you two on your way," Rufus says, looking back at forth between us. London nods, smiling, while I just look to the floor. "Your stylists are waiting in your respective rooms. They'll be making you both look fabulous for the Chariot Rides, so please try not to fight them. They're doing their best to help, and the last thing they need are another set of rebels. Last year was terrible enough..."

I think back to the pair of tributes from last year. A twelve-year-old girl was reaped, killed by her psychotic District Partner. He survived for a long time, but he was openly rebellious to the Capitol. It wasn't a surprise to anyone when a giant Python seemed to come out of nowhere and ate him.

That won't be me. I might die, but the Gamemakers won't see the need to kill me. I'm too docile to verbally announce my hate of the Capitol. I don't even know if I really hate them or not...

I definitely don't like them, I at least know that. Forcing twenty-four kids each year to fight to the death is hideous, and I just can't ignore that. But Rufus has been nothing but nice to me...

I just don't know how to feel. _You'll definitely feel that knife slicing into your neck, while the people in the Capitol laugh as you bleed to death. Isn't that enough for you to form an opinion, Ricky—?_

"Ricky, are you listening to me?"

I snap back to attention. My escort looks irate at being ignored, while London has a knowing smirk on her face. She's one of the only girls that has ever tried to start a conversation with me. I'm usually too shy to approach them, and they don't ever really approach me.

_But London approached you. The same girl that you're going to die with. Ironic, isn't it?_

"Sorry," I say, looking away from my District Partner. I'm not even in the Games and I'm already feeling sick. I just don't want the Hunger Games to happen. I just don't want to _die_. But death is all I can think about.

I've never had to deal with this before. It's just hard. I'm _scared_.

Rufus scoffs, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "Whatever. Just remember to do whatever your stylists say, no matter what. It's not your place to argue against them."

_Not my place. _I sigh, nodding. He doesn't even have to tell me this stuff. It's not in my nature to argue with people. I'm the boy that does whatever I'm told, the boy that stays out of everyone's way. The boy that's going to be forgotten by the Capitol, by District Ten, by _everyone_.

"Well, hurry up and enter!" Rufus exclaims, grinning. "I can't wait to see what costumes they put you two in this year!"

He opens the door for me, gently pushing me inside. Before I can even process what's going on, he closes it behind me—and three colorful people practically glomp me.

"We finally get to meet you!" One of them squabbles, their Capitol accent ridiculously strong. He's a short man, with purple eyes that stare at me with too much intensity. I take a step back, hitting the door—but they just get even closer.

"Look at him, he's as adorable as he was on TV!" The second one says, her hair a bright yellow. I blush a little, trying to speak up—but she just overpowers me, her voice fast and loud. "We can definitely work on those eyebrows, though! Does District Ten find them fashionable?"

_Eyebrows? Fashionable? What? _"Um—"

"Yes, even though he's absolutely _scrumptious_, we still have a lot of work to do." The third stylist isn't as energetic as his co-workers, but his sense of clothing is just as weird. With his scar-like tattoos all over his body, he looks more like a war veteran than a stylist for the Hunger Games.

Before I can even try and introduce myself, the yellow-haired lady grabs my arm and leads me to a bed. Around the bed are all kinds of items that I've never seen in my life. The only thing I can identify are the clippers...but why would they even need those? They aren't cutting off my hair...right?

"Before we start, I need you to strip down," the purple-eyed man says—and for a good second, my mind completely _stops_. What did he just tell me to do?! "Please do not be alarmed. We're going to have to wash and shave _everything_—minus the hair, of course. Capitolites just don't like hairy tributes."

A regular person might start yelling. A regular person might start fighting back. But I was rigorously taught by my parents not to do such things. Even if they aren't here right now, I can't shake off their teachings so easily...

I look to the floor, playing with my hands. "Are... Are you joking?"

"Of course not! We aren't ones to joke around when we're dealing with our tribute!"

I bite my lip, grabbing the corners of my shirt. I'm about to willingly show these strangers my body, so they can touch all over me before they send me into an arena to die. _This isn't right, _I want to say_. This is wrong, _I want to say.

"Yes, ma'am," I say, just like I was taught. My parents were so strict with me. They've basically silenced me.

And in a week, I'll be silenced again.

But this time, it'll be permanent.

* * *

**Toren Ingalls, 15;**

**District Nine Female. **

"This hair is seriously one gigantic _pain_," one of my stylists says, groaning. She snatches her comb out of my hair—and it takes everything in my power not to scream in pain. What is wrong with her?! That _hurt!_

"Lilia, please don't do that again," the lone male of the group scolds. "We must make Toren presentable, and snatching out clunks of her hair will do the opposite."

I almost snort at that; like _he's_ one to talk. When he places that cold sheet of waxed paper on my leg, it feels a thousand times worse than whatever that lady can do to my hair.

Forcing my eyes shut, I grimace when I feel him place another sheet on my left leg. _Here it comes,_ I think, trying to prepare myself. _Just try to ig—_

He snatches it off, and I bite my lip to keep from crying. It really, _really_ hurts! It's the worst pain I've ever experienced in my entire fifteen years of living, and I'm not even in the Games yet. Could what's to come be any worse than the pain I'm feeling now?

"Once again, dear, I'm terribly sorry," my male stylist says, placing a cold towel on my leg to stop the burn. It doesn't help much, but the thought that he cares enough to try and ease the pain is enough.

My own mom doesn't even care about me that much. Did she ever wonder how _I_ felt to have to move from place to place so often? Getting attached to different people before being violently ripped away—that was my childhood, and it's affected me in more ways than one.

It's sorta like the waxed paper. It attaches to my skin with its cool, almost soothing texture. But then, before I can truly even get to know it, this man rips it off my leg mercilessly. Maybe that's why I'm not crying right now?

It hurts—but I'm use to pain.

"Raise your arms, please."

I do as I'm told, letting the lady wash the "grime and muck" off my body. Apparently, since I'm from the districts, I've been living in filth my entire life. But wouldn't that be the Capitol's fault? We live in poverty—sometimes even worse than that—while these colorful people get to live the good life. Shouldn't they share some of their riches with the people who so clearly need it?

Before yesterday, I didn't even think the Capitol was a real place. I always pictured "the Capitol" as a force held over our heads, maybe even a threat at times. I was always told that they had power over us, that they controlled us.

But in my entire life, I had never seen any signs of a bustling city filled with riches unimaginable. The Capitol had never really controlled my broken life. My mother was the main reason we had to constantly move from home to home, and I've just been adapting as best as I can.

"Why do you district people think growing your hair out so long and thick is a good thing?" Lilia mumbles, running her comb through my brown locks of hair. "Can't we just cut it?"

"No!" I say, so loud that even I'm surprised. They all give me incredulous looks, and I feel my cheeks turn a dark shade of red. "I'm sorry, but I wouldn't... I just don't like that idea..."

I'm not nearly as disagreeing, but I just don't want them cutting off my hair. _You don't want any of this, Toren, but do they really care? And aren't you just going along with it, as you always do?_

Another sheet of paper is torn off my legs. I wince at the burning pain, and my stylist puts another cold towel on top of it.

"Are you sure, sweety?" Lilia asks, her tone soft. "This is a lot of hair. You don't want anyone to grab it during the Games, do you?" The mention of the Hunger Games makes me shiver, but I try and stand my ground. I may be a friendly, agreeable person, but I'm not a pushover.

"I'm sure," I tell her, and she sighs in defeat. With that small obstacle out of the way, I try to relax myself—but it's harder than it seems. Not only am I lying on a bed, _naked_, in front of three Capitolites, but Lilia put the thought of the Hunger Games into my brain, and I can't get it out.

Just like the Capitol, I thought of the Hunger Games as more of a threat than a real event. When it wasn't shown on the television, I didn't think about it. Even during the Reapings, I tried to distance myself from it as much as possible. I mean, twenty-four kids battling it out to the death? It just didn't seem real...

Even when I was reaped yesterday, it just didn't seem real. I didn't want to accept it.

But I'm going to have to do more than accept it, apparently. I usually have little to no say in whatever goes around in my life—but I really want to go back home. Even if I resent her a little, I really want to see my mom again.

"Okay, I think we're finally done with you, Toren."

I sit up, smiling thankfully at my three stylists. Even if I can't fully trust them, considering what they do, I am grateful for their hard work. They hand me a robe to cover myself in, all the while talking about how I'm the toughest tribute they've ever worked on.

"Seriously, dear! Beauty is painful, but you've been coping so well!" Lilia exclaims, cupping my hands in hers. Her orange eyes flash in the light—and once again, I'm wondering just how freaky these Capitolites can get. "How do you do it so well? I personally can't stand getting my legs waxed."

I shrug, looking at myself in the mirror. I don't look all too different, but I do note that my skin looks clearer. _Will this help me win? Clearer skin?_

Whatever it is, I guess I just have to take it. Like I've always done.

Because I really want to win.

I won't just lie down and die.

* * *

**Kaya Vause, 16;**

**District Eight Female.**

"Sit down, please. Make yourself comfortable," says the rather tall lady with an assortment of colors in her hair. In front of her is a small table, with a pure white couch situated right next to her. I'm not even close to the lady, but already I can smell the thick perfume coming from her body.

I exhale, feeling something hot and painful in my chest. The thought that I'll have to sit so close to a Capitolite, look into her multicolored eyes, breathe the same air as her—it all makes me sick. I'm not ashamed to say that I already want to kill her, because I _do_.

I really, honestly want to kill her.

I want to kill everyone from this city, actually.

_But you can't, Kaya, _I tell myself, forcing the smile on my face as I walk over and sit down. _You can't do anything to any of them. Not yet..._

"My name is Vibiana, and I'm your Head Stylist." She smiles at me, and the urge to get up and scream at her grows stronger with each second. Unlike my bimbo prep team, she actually speaks and moves with a spark of intelligence.

It reminds me too much of things that are best kept in the dark.

"My name is Kaya Vause," I say, swallowing the hatred. "District Eight Fema—"

"I know who you are," she interrupts. I blink. "And please wipe that fake smile off of your face. Manipulation will be a good asset in the Arena, but unfortunately it won't work on me. Do you think I wasn't informed about you breaking one of my stylist's wrists?"

For a good moment, I'm stunned speechless. Did they really tell her? And then, I'm mad, because I tried to forget about my idiotic prep team. I tried to forget about how they practically jumped me, and how all I wanted to do was protect myself, and how they just _had_ to call the Peacekeepers after I fended them off.

"They tried to take off my shirt!" I retort, louder than I mean to.

"That's their job, honey," she says, her patronizing tone adding to her patronizing smirk.

"I don't care." I look away from her artificial face, down to the robes on my body. I couldn't let them strip me down. Not after my mom was literally _raped_ by these people. These colorful, gaudy people...I'd rather _die_ than let them put a single hand on me. "He...had no right..."

"We have every right—"

"You people have absolutely _no_ right!" I scream, that suffocating feeling in my chest burning hotter and hotter. Despite my outburst, Vibiana still stares at me with that condescending look. And that just makes me angrier, because all it does is prove my point.

These people just don't _care_. These people are the monsters that _bombed_ our districts, _killed_ our families, _raped_ our women.

And I want revenge.

Ever since five years ago, it's all I've ever wanted.

"Why don't you calm down, Ms. Vause," Vibiana suggests. "I'm not here to argue. I'm here to finish you up and show you your chariot costume. Don't you want that?"

I stand up, my hands clenched. "You aren't laying a finger on me," I mumble. "I fought them, and I'll fight you, too."

"Is it because of the scars? Are you ashamed?" She stands up—and all at once, I throw myself at her. _She shouldn't know about those, _I think, raking my nails across her snobby face. _These people shouldn't know! _

She screams, shoving me away—and my back hits something soft. Turning around, I'm instantly face-to-face with three Peacekeepers, the same Peacekeepers from earlier. I turn back around, trying to run—but it's practically useless trying to run against these monsters. Because they always seem to have something new, some advantage that assures they win whatever battle they get into.

_These people will do anything to win. _

I'm not like them. I still have my humanity. _And now they're trying to take it away from you. _

"I hate you!" I scream, fighting against the Peacekeepers' hold. Tears stream down my face—but I don't care, because the rage is stronger than the sorrow. It'll always be. It has to be. "I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, _I hate every single one of you! _I'm going to get my revenge! I promise! I'll—I'll _kill all of you!_"

_Revenge._

Ever since that horrible day, it's all I can think about at night. Whenever I close my eyes, I see my mother surrounded by Peacekeepers, I see my friends laughing and then dying the next day. I see people being shot down, blown up, _tortured_.

I see my auntie.

And it fills me with anger. The type of anger that eats you away from the inside, because you know there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.

But now, there is.

Because I'm going to win the Hunger Games.

Because I'm going to break the Capitol from the inside.

_For Aunt Kiera._

* * *

**Calla Mallow, 17;**

**District Seven Female.**

"You look _beautiful!_" Tatiana looks me up and down, a scarily big grin on her shiny face. "Oh, you _must_ look at yourself in the mirror, Calla! I think I've hit the jackpot with the chariot costume this year!"

I do as she tells me, turning towards the life-size mirror. And once I do, I almost wish I didn't.

I'm in a tight brown dress that hugs my skin in every way possible, giving me the illusion of curvaceous hips. The dress literally stops at the top of my knees, while my cleavage—_or lack of_—is only half-covered. There's a unique swirl pattern on the dress that actually looks pretty nice, but...

"Don't you like it? I think it's just _gorgeous_," my Head Stylist coos, still smiling that smile of hers. I try to smile appreciatively, but it comes out a bit awkward.

"It's..." I rack my brain to come up with a word that wouldn't piss her off. I'm not that type of person; unnecessarily making people mad just isn't my thing. "...creative? Eye-catching?"

"My words exactly!" Tatiana starts circling me, mumbling things to herself now. "Maybe I should've had the prep team work on your chest a bit more... Should I pad them? And while tight is sexy, I don't want you looking like a little girl trapped in a woman's dress... Hmm..."

I gulp, totally overwhelmed with her words and the fact that I've been "worked on" for the past three hours. Not to be self-deprecating or anything, but I don't think calling me _sexy_ or even _pretty_ would fit. I'm just..._me_.

_But the Capitol doesn't want plain old Calla. The Capitol wants Calla to dazzle them, to go out wearing something like this. _

I don't think I can do that. I've never been more than "that lovely child." I help whenever I'm needed, sure, but I'm just not the type to go around flirting with people. And I'm definitely not going to skip bases and flirt with the entire Capitol, right?

...But what am I supposed to do? I want to go home. I want to go home _so_ bad.

"...Um, Tatiana?" I start, nervously messing with my hair. My prep team left my curls alone, because they still wanted me to be recognizable to Panem after the chariots are over with. I'm thankful for that, because I can't even imagine how my family would react seeing me without my usual hairstyle.

My Head Stylist hardly glances at me, writing something down in her notepad. "Yes, dear?"

"This... This dress. It's going to get me sponsors, right? It's going to make the Capitol remember me...right?"

She does look up this time. "Certainly! I can already see the headlines: Sexy Victor from District Seven! Oh, they'll be talking about my design for _months!_" Suddenly, she stops talking, a deep look in her eyes. "That is, if you win. So you need to win, Calla, so they'll remember my dress. Okay?"

I almost sigh. She cares more about her dress than about my life. But she is helping, in a way, so I can't totally be against her. Sure, I'm against the Capitol just like everyone else...but I can't vociferate my hatred of them, because I know it'll just be used against me. These people have control over my life, after all.

And I don't want to die. I _really_ don't want to die...

"I'll try not to lose." I force a chuckle, and she laughs right along with me. _Because it's all just a game to her. It's not her that could seriously die in a week._

I look back in the mirror. I have makeup on my face. A _lot_, actually. If I were to be honest, I don't even recognize myself much. Just like the years previous to this one, we're being forced to look a lot older than we are, so that the Capitol can sponsor us. But did that save the pair from last year?

Will that save me?

I hope so. I really do. I'll do anything if it means that I can live another day longer. I'll make the very people that killed my father like me, so that they can sponsor me, so that I can win. So that I can _live_.

So that I can live...

"Tatiana, I really do like this dress." I smile at her, and she returns it with a giant grin. "Seriously, I can tell you worked hard on it. I'm going to get a lot of sponsors because of you. So once again, I really thank you."

Her face flushes, words of thanks dying on her tongue. "That...was the most any tribute has ever said about my creations. Thank _you_, Calla..."

I smile. _If I need to smile, I'll smile. If I need to suck up to her, I'll do it. _

Whatever I need to do, I'll learn to do it.

Because I need to come back home. _But sucking up to the Capitol won't really save you in the Arena. You'll have to do something else, something you certainly aren't prepared to do._

I look back at the mirror, staring at the red spots on my dress. Why are those there? She can't seriously be...

"Um, but what's up with these spots?" I ask hesitantly, wanting her to tell me that my fears are for naught, that I'm just being stupid. But instead, Tatiana grins. It's a grin that only someone from the Capitol could make, twisted in the worst possible way.

"I think you'll see soon enough," she says, before going back to writing in her notepad.

I gulp, closing my eyes to somehow slow down my beating heart. But it's to no avail—because she's right, I _will_ see soon enough.

The only question is whether it's someone else's blood or my own.

And it scares me how much I don't want it to be mine.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey guys! This chapter didn't take very long, right? I hope not. **

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I worked hard, as usual, so a review would be heavenly! I'm really thankful for the ones I've gotten, and I'd like to say "thank you so very much" to all the nice comments. I really love reading them~**

* * *

**Also, why not ask a question or two at the end of each chapter? I think I'm going to start doing that now. **

_**What are your thoughts on each of these six tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why? **_

**And also, how about a personal question?**

_**Your prep team tells you to strip down completely for them. Do you do it willingly? Do you put up a fight?**_

* * *

**And I think that's it! Once again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll see you all next time, okay? ^_^**


	9. Chariot Rides

**Chariot Rides.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Ceres Cantrell, 13;**

**District Six Female.**

This is _so_ stupid.

I look around the place, trying to get a hint on everything happening around us. After we were done being raped by our prep team, Vita took Breno and I to this room with way too much going on. There are a surplus of Capitol people running around, and there are _horses_, and...

And there are other tributes, some standing by their chariots and some walking around. _Just great. _I wasn't particularly planning on interacting with other people today, especially the people that'll probably end up killing me soon.

But things never seem to go according to plan with me. Like, _ever_. Getting chosen to die in the Hunger Games is just a small example.

"Well, here you both go!" Vita says, grinning that grin of hers. Her stupid orange hair sits atop her head like there's _nothing_ wrong here.

But there's a lot of things wrong. Her hair, for starters, is wrong. Being forced to parade in front of the Capitol is wrong. And sending twenty-four kids into an outdoor arena is wrong.

Everything here is _wrong_—and look at all of us just going along with it, like the little soon-to-be corpses we are.

Vita leads Breno and I to our chariot, and I half-notice a group of colorful people following us. _Great, it's our rape-squad. Thought they'd stay back and find some other kids to strip down and touch all over. _I try to ignore them as they squabble on about how everyone is sure to love our costumes this year—which is a lie! If anyone loved what they put Breno and I in, they're insane!

I can hardly walk in these tire-made pants. Yes, _tires_. Our pants are made of tire-material, while our top is a simple white t-shirt with grease stains all over it. To be honest, the greasy shirt is fine—I think it symbolizes my tomboyish personality perfectly—but the pants are just a bit too much. Will anyone even be able to see our pants while we're standing in the chariot?

Logic. I look, yet just cannot find.

"Okay, so let me explain a few things before we all leave," Vita says, looking at Breno but occasionally glancing at me. Obvious favoritism is obvious. "When you hear the cue, you'll have to hop into your chariots and ride around the City Circle a few times. The world will be watching, so _please_ try to make an impression. There are a _bunch_ of sponsors out there, and you two don't want to lose it all to the pair from District One and Two."

I prevent myself from rolling my eyes. _Yeah, because everyone will sponsor the thirteen-year-old girl from District Six over the prissy bitch and the reaped killer. _Excuse my language, but _come on_, who expects for me to win?

That may be the only thing going for me. Everyone will overlook me, because I'm just the small girl from District Six. And then I'll surprise everyone by staying alive longer than those two powerhouse districts.

..._If only. _I sigh, repressing a grimace. The only way I'll survive past the Bloodbath is with a giant amount of luck. Luck I just don't possess. Never mind actually _winning_.

Ugh, this is all just so stupid...

"I would use this time waiting, though, to scope out the competition." Vita's grin turns dangerously feral, which doesn't surprise me considering she's an orange-haired lady from the Capitol. It's kinda expected. "See who's the strongest-looking and who's the weakest-looking. See who can be taken out with the least effort and the most effort. If one of you is _ever_ going to win, you're going to have to think like Victors from here on out. Okay?"

We make eye-contact for once, and I look down. _Damn my shyness! I could've made an impression! _Nonetheless, I nod, letting this woman know I was at least paying attention. She seems to sigh—and after a few more unimportant speeches, she and the rape-squad head off. Well, all of them except my Head Rapist.

He stays back for a bit and smiles at me, reaching out with one hand and...cupping my face?! What?!

"Do well, Ceres," he says in that nasally mess of a voice he has. "We wouldn't want our amazing talents to go to waste."

I take a step back, visibly disgusted. "I'll...try to show Panem just how stupid... I mean, just how amazing you are, sir."

He looks disgruntled at my statement, but goes away to leave anyway. Breno gives me a look, his eyebrow raised, while I just shake my head in response. I didn't _mean_ to call him stupid. It just slipped.

Let's just hope I don't slip in the Arena, though. If that happens, well, I'll be dead.

And nobody wants to die. Not even these stupid, pedophilic Capitol people.

And certainly not me.

* * *

**Michael Riverbee, 13;**

**District Five Male.**

"Wow, look at them!" I exclaim, pointing at the two from District Seven who're just now walking in.

The girl has on a brown dress that's supposed to look like tree bark, I think. Littered everywhere, though, are these red polka dots. It seems kinda tacky, but I'm sure her stylist knows what they're doing. On her back are tree leaves, which she doesn't seem very happy about, but puts on a smile whenever her colorful prep team looks at her. The boy—the one that _volunteered_, I remember—has on a brown suit, the leaves falling off his back with every step he takes. Both of them are holding these fake axes, and I can see a flash of red on the boy's weapon.

...Is that supposed to symbolize blood? When the District Seven boy catches me staring and smiles, I quickly look away, mentally swiping at the fog of dread trying to envelope me. _Not again, _I tell myself, giving Alexandra a wide grin. _I'm not going to cry like I did during the Reapings. That's just not me..._

"What are you smiling for?" My District Partner questions, her expression completely deadpanned. She looks exhausted, to be honest, like she's just tired of everything going on. Whenever Drusas is around, she puts on that confident smirk like its nothing—but whenever it's just us two by ourselves, it's like the bravado just melts away.

Somehow, my grin gets even bigger. "Why aren't _you_ smiling?" I tease, gently shoving her shoulder. Her face somehow finds the energy to form into a scowl.

"Don't touch me."

"Come on, don't you wanna look at all the costumes with me?" I ask, desperately trying to keep the mood up. I'm not the type of person to just wallow around in depression; I'm loud, lively, smiling for as long as I have to.

And I'll smile for a _long_ time if it'll make Alexandra happy. I just want for us to be friends. I'm not used to people pushing me away like she does.

"They're all stupid," she mumbles, her scowl slowly going back to deadpanned. And then, out of nowhere, she smirks. "Including ours. Seriously, these high-polluted Capitol people are supposed to be the epitome of fashion, yet they dress us like idiots. I'm really doubting the intelligence of some of these morons."

I laugh, clutching my stomach to stop it from hurting. Alexandra is just so _funny_ sometimes! I had a lot of friends back in District Five, but none of them as brash as her. Ria is just kind to everyone; she'd never use so many negatives words like Alexandra does. And Finley, while three years older than me, still isn't as tough as my District Partner is.

The sudden thought of my friends brings a smile to my face. No matter how much I miss them, I know that they'd hate to see me looking so sad. They'd want me to smile. _No, they'd want you to survive. Can you do that?_

I... I'd like to think I can survive. I mean, I just can't imagine myself dying. Who can? If I believe hard enough, well, I'm sure it'll all work out in the end. The Hunger Games might not even happen, y'know? It might get cancelled or something...

...I really hope it gets cancelled or something...

"Hey, I'm going to go walk around, okay?" I tell Alexandra, still smiling. I'm not one to just sit down; I'm one to move and play around, because what's the fun of being all silent and stiff? Alexandra just doesn't get it yet, but I'm sure she will sooner or later.

Without saying anything, she just rolls her eyes. Of course she doesn't care. Laughing, I run off in search of _something_ to do. The District Eleven pair finally comes into the room with their mean-looking escort and stylists, and both of them are dressed like...leaves. Big, green leaves. The boy—Koda, I remember, because he's not even my age and he volunteered—has a grimace on his face, but he instantly looks calm when the District Eleven girl grabs his hand. They _are_ friends, aren't they?

I'm just about to go over and introduce myself, but then I see something else that catches my eye. The girl from District Six standing beside her chariot, a deadpanned look on her face. Ceres, I think her name is. She's the same age as me, right? Why is she just standing there, not talking to her District Partner or anything?

"Hi!" I rush over and greet, putting on my most charming smile. Ceres glances at me, her eyes uncaring, before she looks down to the floor.

"Um, hi..."

"I'm Michael, from District Five," I tell her, pointing at my chariot costume. "Just in case the outfit didn't give it away..." I'm in a gray, full-body jumpsuit, with fake lightning bolts coming from my back. I like it, to be honest, but Alexandra hated it.

Ceres looks up at me, a frown on her face. "Yeah, I kinda figured..."

Before I can really say anything else, a loud whistle reverberates throughout the room. Both Ceres and I turn to look at a man standing in the middle of the place, adorned in all white.

"Tributes!" He booms, so loud that I have to blink to get my bearings straight. "Get back to your chariots right now! The parade will be starting soon, and anyone caught out-of-order in the next minute will be severely punished! So once again, I repeat, _get back to your own chariots!_"

"You don't have to yell at us like that," Ceres murmurs, scowling at the man. "Like really, aren't we getting punished enough?"

I stare at the girl, before another smile breaks across my face. She's pretty funny, too. She reminds me of Alexandra, but just shyer. And I like that. If we were in District Five, I'm almost positive that we'd be friends.

_But we're not in District Five. We're in the Capitol. We can't be friends. _

_...But we can be allies, right? Allies... Yeah, I like that. _

I like that a lot.

* * *

**Caio Artelle, 17;**

**District Four Male.**

"Tributes!" The burly Capitol man calls out, deep and threatening. "Get back to your chariots right now! The parade will be starting soon, and anyone caught out-of-order in the next minute will be severely punished! So once again, I repeat, _get back to your own chariots!_"

For a second, my mouth opens to say something nasty. I mean, who _is_ this guy? He can't just tell us to do whatever he wants just because he's from the Capitol, right?

But despite myself, I don't say a word. I've learned that if I don't keep my mouth shut sometimes, I'll be punished. I'm against the Capitol just like everyone else, because they've done a lot of harm to my life—but voicing my opinions will just get me killed by the Gamemakers. And I don't want that.

Shaking my head, I start climbing on top of the chariot. _It's pretty tall, isn't it? What if we fall? Do they want us to fall? _I shy away from that train of thought, not wanting to get into a big debate with myself. I think a lot, and if I don't stop myself, I'll end up making myself sick.

When I make it safely on top of the chariot, I look around, seeing how the other tributes are faring. The boy from District One is already on, too, while the girl is struggling. They're both dressed as royalty or something; with their long robes and crowns on their heads, that's the only thing I can think of.

Both tributes from District Two have boarded their chariots, the boy talking while the girl just glares at him. Tension, definitely. As usual, they're both dressed as gladiators.

Just as District Four is usually dressed as fisherman or something, which is exactly what we are. I don't know how I feel about my costume; when I first saw it, I hated it. But now, comparing it to the others, I kind of like it now?

I'll probably just end up hating it again sooner or later. I've had seventeen years to learn how my likes and dislikes work. They change so rapidly sometimes that not even I can keep up. People are always getting irritated with me, but honestly, I don't feel it's _that_ much of a problem.

Looking away from the District Three pair, I notice that Ula still hasn't gotten on yet. It's not _that_ hard, is it? I look down at my District Partner, about to question her—but that's when I notice the way her face winces whenever she attempts to climb on. _Her leg. _Yesterday, during the Reaping Recaps, the cameras closed in on her burnt leg, while Aeliana commented on whether or not it'd hinder her chances. Considering she can't climb on by herself, it probably will.

When Cassian asked her about it, Ula mumbled something about being stuck in a fire and narrowly escaping. Something about her story sounded really familiar, but I just shrugged it off, not wanting to worry myself with it.

I do that a lot, don't I?

"Do you need help?" I offer, holding out a hand. She looks up at me, before a small smile plants on her face.

"That'd be nice."

Grabbing her hand and pulling her up, she just manages to stand up beside me before the big Capitol man passes by. He eyes us for a moment, but he doesn't linger, and eventually continues on to check with the District Three pair. I make a face at his back, while Ula actually scowls.

"These people are such asses," I say, still frowning. She nods at me, but doesn't say anything, deciding to rather keep her fury hidden. I like Ula. I don't think I can manage to connect with any other tributes; I'd rather stay with her, because she's the only person here that can keep me connected with District Four.

District Four. There's so many memories I have of my home. But so many memories of the war, too. _Horrible_ isn't even a strong enough word to describe the horrible situation everyone was in. It's just not fair how many people died. It's just not fair how the Capitol can just rule over us. Who made them the big bad boss?

My mom wouldn't stand for it. She hid multiple rebels inside of our house, while my dad fought in the war. But he didn't want to risk his life. He didn't have the resolve to make a change. And that's why he ran away during an important battle. That's why he was later killed.

I'm not a coward like my dad. I'm not going to run away. I'm going to fight for my life. His journey ended in his death. Mine can't end like that.

Suddenly, the chariot lurches forward—and for a second, my determination wavers. _But_ _will it end like that? Will I die?_

Just like everything else, I place the thought to the back of my mind. I'll worry about it later, but not now. Not while I can still smile and wave. Not while I can still breathe.

Not now.

* * *

**Tet Kender, 13;**

**District Three Male**.

"Just smile," Iris mumbles to herself, over and over again. She bites her lip, clutching the handles in front of us. "Just smile, Iris…"

I stare at her, my head cocked to the side. What happened to the bubbly bundle of joy she was earlier? When I found it difficult to climb the chariot by myself, Iris offered to help—even though she wasn't even on herself. What happened to that girl?

I momentarily look away from my District Partner, instead looking at the pair in front of us. Kostos Sylett and Echo Woods, the District Two tributes. Kostos seems to be asking Echo something, a blinding smile on his face—and in response, she just rolls her eyes.

Is he asking about the parade? Is this why Iris is having some sort of breakdown? Even though I don't understand it myself, I don't want her to feel like this. Back in District Three, I might not have even acknowledged her—but she must've gotten chosen for a reason, so she must be special in some way.

I wish I knew the reason I was chosen.

"Why do we have to smile?" I ask her, the first time I've ever started a conversation with her. She stops mumbling and looks at me, a confused glint in her brown eyes.

"Because…" She seems to struggle for a second, before she gives me a small smile. "Well, Balbina told me that people will like me more if I smile and wave. And if they like me, I…"

I blink, waiting for her to continue, but she doesn't. She just looks away, mumbling an apology—and suddenly, the giant doors to the room open up. Immediately, a gust of wind blows in…

And then comes the cheers. I'm almost positive that it's the the loudest thing I've ever heard in my entire thirteen years of living. The light coming through the door is literally blinding, and the fake glasses I have on don't help me see at all. District One's chariot lurches forward, and the pair are let out the door into the blinding light. Immediately, the cheers grow louder, causing the ground to slightly shake. Is this the parade that we're being forced to partake in? If Iris and I have to go out there, I'm almost positive that I'll end up _deaf_.

So many questions rush through my brain—and like always, I try to find an answer. My stylist told me that we'd be travelling around the City Circle while the Capitol people cheer for us. She said that they'd love our costumes—both Iris and I are dressed as scientists, with white lab coats and everything—and that they'd sponsor us.

But what am I supposed to do? I know a ton of things dealing with mechanics and the like, but it's things like this that fly right over my head. Am I just supposed to stand here and smile? Why? Why are we doing any of this?

_Aren't I here to die? What do parades have to do with anything?_

It took me a while, yesterday, to process everything. When I was reaped, I didn't know what to do or how to react. I never really do. But afterwards, I realized that I was just picked for the Hunger Games. The Hunger Games, where twenty-four children are forced to fight to the death. The idea was ludicrous and intimidating enough, so I never really cared nor had the time to watch these so-called _Hunger Games._ So basically, I'm completely in the dark about everything.

But I know that I'm eventually going to have to learn. The odds of me winning _with_ the knowledge are already low enough, so how can I possibly win with no idea of what's going on? The odds, as they say, just aren't in my favor.

But the odds of me getting picked in the first place were astronomically low, too. The odds may not favor me, but I'm going to try my hardest until the bitter end. I may be awkward and maybe even a bit naive to what goes on around me, but my intelligence is nothing to snooze at.

"Here we go," Iris mumbles, and our chariot is the one to lurch forward this time. "Make sure to smile, Tet. They...want us to smile..." I glance at her once again, and her mouth is twisted up in an awkward grin. I honestly don't understand what she's so anxious about.

As the chariot passes through the doors, and I'm instantly blinded by light, I realize that I'm not nervous at all. Just confused. _What does this have to do with having us kill each other?_ I just don't know.

When my vision comes back to me, I'm instantly shocked by the amount of people. To my left are people. To my right are people. All of them are standing up; clapping, smiling, _cheering_.

"_**WHOOOO!**_" The Capitol people scream, making my ears ring. _What is this? _I think, wincing at the noise. It's like a giant wall of energy closing in on me, and I just don't know how I feel about it. A woman with golden hair tosses something at us, but we're moving too fast for me to see what it actually is. _Are they really happy to see us?_

_If they are, then why are they doing this? _

Our chariot continues down the brown road—and now, most of these colorful people have focused their attention on Ula Dylan and Caio Artelle, tributes of District Four. Iris glances at me and smiles reassuringly, while I manage to nod back. The noise hasn't gone down at all, but it almost makes me feel a bit better that they aren't focusing solely on us. I just can't think straight with everything going on. Only one thought has flooded my mind since the very start.

_None of this makes any sense. _

Maybe that's why I can't bring myself to fully understand everything. The Reaping. The luxuries. This parade. The Capitol. The Hunger Games in general. None of this makes any sense.

_No sense at all._

* * *

**Kostos Sylett, 18;**

**District Two Male.**

"They love us..."

Echo glances at me, her features uncharacteristically friendly. She can put up a personable facade, that's for sure. _Just like you then, huh? _I shake the thought away; I can't afford to get all brooding now, not while many of these colorful people could end up saving my life.

Sponsors are a given, considering how I'm one of the few who volunteered—but with the right attitude, I can persuade these people into believing I'm the perfect Victor. Cheerful, attractive, strong. _Even when you're everything but, huh?_

"Of course they love us," Echo says, giving a particularly rich-looking guy a charming smile. The chariots start to finally slow down, even though the cheering doesn't quieten at all. The horses lead all of us tributes to a rather large mansion, creating a semi-circle around it. "Even though you're annoying, we aren't like the rest of these tributes, Kostos. We actually appreciate the Capitol's benevolence, unlike the rest of these district snots."

I hum at that, giving my District Partner a simple shrug. If I were to be completely honest, I'm more marveled by the Capitol than appreciative. These colorful, weird-speaking people brought thirteen districts to their knees. It might be a bit childish of me, but it's pretty awesome when you really think about it, right?

For a while, we just stand in front of the mansion, the cheering non-stopping. I hear a few names being chanted, and I'm extremely grateful when I hear my name in the mix. I mean, I volunteered for this. I did it for the thrill, to fill this stupid void in my heart, to be more than someone who you could just kick to the curb.

I want to be something in life. But not just anything. I can't even count how many random jobs I've done in District Two, just to quit the next day. I need something _exciting_—something that can have my heart pumping, something that can make me noticed. That's why I volunteered for the Hunger Games; not so I can murder a bunch of kids for no reason, but to fill the void in my heart.

Sometimes, it's all I think about.

Suddenly, the cheering starts to get lower and lower. I look up, already knowing what's going to happen next. And I'm right. Up on, like, the tenth floor of the mansion, President Kronin walks out and stands on the small patio. His black hair is styled up to look absolutely devilish, and the red suit he's wearing just adds to that image. When he raises his hand to speak, the area just goes totally silent. It's almost surreal.

The president's eyes gaze over us, silently accessing each tribute. When they land on me, it's like the air completely vanishes, like I can't take a breath without him knowing. Knowing every little thing about me. _No, he can't know anything about me. Chill out, Kostos. You've kept appearances up for this long, and you can do it now._ When his gaze finally leaves me, I almost let out a sigh.

"Tributes," he says, slowly. I latch onto every word—more out of curiosity than fascination. "For five years now, the twelve districts in Panem have offered the Capitol wonderful warriors to repent for their wrongdoings. These Games are slowly annihilating the rebels. For this, the Capitol thanks you for your sacrifice to better this nation. _I_ thank you. As usual, I wish you a happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

When he turns around and walks back into his lavish home, the cheering of the Capitol people comes back with even more volume than before! I hold back the urge to wince—and suddenly, District One's chariot starts moving back to the garage. My future allies, if Echo doesn't go and ruin it with her attitude. When they pass by, I meet the gaze of Vesper and Adeline, and put on one of my most charming smiles. First impressions are everything, right?

In response, Adeline gives me a smile, too. _She's cute, _I think. _Just like all the other girls in District Two. The ones that followed me around everywhere, the ones that cheered as I trained, the ones that I had so many one-night-stands with. _But they were just that. One-nighters. Not even the attention of females can fill this void...

That's why I need the Hunger Games. It's my last option. If I die, I'd have absolutely nothing to lose.

_But you won't die. You've trained. You've gained the attention of the Capitol. You can do this, Kostos. You can..._

After one last ride in front of the Capitol, we're all brought back into the garage. All of the tributes are immediately embraced by their prep team—minus us, for some reason. I don't mind the delay, though. For a moment, I just close my eyes and let my mind relax. All that cheering was a bit discombobulating, to be honest, and keeping up my cheery attitude all day has left me exhausted. I just, for a while, want to be alone. To wallow in misery for just a little while.

But I can't do that. Not yet, at least.

"I think it's only fair that we approach our allies," I tell Echo, grinning, as if I'm excited. I am, in a way, but I'm honestly too tired to care much. Without even waiting for an answer, I jump off the chariot and take off the annoying gladiator helmet, willing the tiredness away.

Echo sighs, climbing off at her own pace. "Do we really have to?" And her mood is back.

I laugh. "Of course we do! They'll think we don't like them if we don't approach, Echo, and what're we going to do without them?"

"But they're weak."

"And yet both Heloise and Arsen allied with them, and _they_ won." I lower my voice, trying to sound seductive rather than over-excited. Even though I know she's not into that, it's at least worth a try. "Come on. It'll be fun."

_Fun. _I say it like I'm on some sort of school trip. But I'm not. The Hunger Games aren't supposed to be fun. They're deadly, nightmarish, adrenaline-draining.

And that's exactly why I'm here. The Games aren't _supposed_ to be fun, but I'll _make_ them fun for as long as possible. And when that gong rings, I'll have to get straight to business.

"_Fine_." Echo groans, stomping off towards the District One duo. "You people seriously irritate me..."

I snicker, following close behind. "Okay, Madam Woods."

* * *

**Adeline Callard, 18;**

**District One Female.**

"That was great!" I exclaim as we pull back into the garage. Vesper glances at me, but doesn't say anything. That's fine, though. Really, it is. I've grown used to the relationship between us; I speak, he listens. And there's nothing wrong with that.

When we come to a complete stop, I let out a breath, the nerves rolling off my body. Right before the parade, I'll admit, I was a bit nervous. There were so many people out there—and what if they didn't like me? What if they thought I was second-rate compared to the District One females before me? What if—?

_No. _I shake my head, forcing the smile on my face. _Don't do this. Not in front of everyone._ Sometimes, I admit, my thoughts can get a little depressing...but doesn't everybody get like that sometimes? As long as I'm around people, though, I can ignore my insecurities and be the amiable person that's expected of me.

You can take a guess at how much I don't like being alone.

"You two were great!" Aquila exclaims, rushing over to us. I smile appreciatively, about to thank her—but her eyes are focused on my District Partner. "Especially you, Vesper. If only you had smiled a bit more..."

He lets out a loud groan, putting his head down. "Just get me out of this thing," he grumbles, trying and failing to raise his arms. Vesper refused to partake in the parade at first, and the Peacekeepers had to get involved. There was screaming, fighting—it was all just horrible. In the end, Vesper was chained to the chariot by his wrists. I tried to calm him down, but he was too worked up to really hear my voice.

And I can't get mad at him for that. Things are changing so rapidly in our lives. Sometimes, when I think about it, I almost want to cry...

Vesper wasn't the only one I saw that had to be detained, though. The red-headed girl from District Eight, too—and I even heard a bit of arguing down with the District Twelve tributes. I can't even imagine what they were doing to get in trouble. When I'm alone, I think about a lot of things, and the other districts are one of those things. I notice how District One and Two are given special treatment, and I don't think that's fair. They deserve just as much as we do...

"I think the parade was fantastic," I say, shoving my thoughts away. The Peacekeepers have come to unlock Vesper's chains, and he gives them a rather sour look when he's finally free. "It's amazing how much the Capitol cares for us. I'm really thankful, Aquila."

"Don't thank me. Thank President Kronin." She waves me off, as she usually does. But... But that's alright. She doesn't have a problem with me, I don't think, so there's no reason for me to have a problem with her. And vice-versa. "Anyway, Jewell is waiting upstairs for you two. After the prep team gets here and showers you both with compliments, we'll go up and meet her. Exciting, isn't it?"

She wasn't looking at me, but I answer anyway. "Very!" I've always wanted to meet Jewell Galamory, but not exactly under these circumstances.

Before anyone else can say anything, though, someone coughs from behind us. We all turn around—and standing right there, in their golden costumes, are the tributes from District Two. Kostos and Echo, I think their names were. They're meeting with us already?

For a second, that thought makes me think of the upcoming Games, and I can't help but frown. But that second goes away fast, and I grin at the two before anyone can hopefully catch it.

"Hi!" I greet. "I'm Adeline Callard, and this here is Ve—"

"We know who you two are, obviously," Echo interrupts. I blink, surprised, but she keeps talking before I can apologize. "Anyway, this idiot wanted to meet the both of you. I don't really understand why, but—"

"I don't understand why, neither," Vesper interrupts _her_. His eyes harden, the same fury from before slowly coming back. I place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he just shrugs me off. "But okay. You just met your competition, the same people who'll want to kill you in the Arena. Now what?"

For a tense moment, nobody speaks. I don't even know what to _say_. Why did Vesper just go off on her like that? Sure, it was a bit rude to interrupt me, but that doesn't mean he has to mouth off to our future allies! In the background, Aquila and our prep team stare at the exchange, eager for some pre-Games drama.

Suddenly, Kostos chuckles, scratching the back of his head. "Well this is awkward."

"More like annoying." Echo takes a step up—and so does Vesper. My District Partner is taller and looks stronger than the other girl, but she's not backing down one bit. "_Anyway_, I'd like for you not to interrupt me while I'm talking. Understand? I'm trying to be nice here—"

"Don't bother. What's the point, anyway?" Vesper says, interrupting _again_. I tense up, bracing myself for the incoming explosion. Why are they being so hostile? "In a week, you're going to die. What's the point of you doing anything when life is just going to be stolen from you?"

"_Look_, if you keep talking, this little _alliance_ is over!"

I gasp at the words leaving her mouth. What's happening? Without these two to protect us, how...how are we..?

"Please calm down, you two," I try, but Echo silences me with a glare. Kostos whispers something in her ear, his expression somehow more amused than anything, but she quite literally shoves him away.

Vesper stares at the girl, before a small smile graces his lips. "I wasn't going to ally with you stuck-up assholes in the first place."

There's a heartbeat of silence, before Echo quite literally groans and stomps away. Kostos stares at her retreating form for a bit, and then turns back to us, smiling his charming smile. With a simple nod at me, he rushes along after her. Vesper smirks to himself, before his smirk quickly turns into another one of his glares, and he also stomps away. Aquila and his prep team follow closely behind, while my prep team comes up and starts asking me a multitude of questions, questions that I can't even understand. The other tributes that were watching the exchange start going on with their own things, while some of them stare at me.

I look to the floor, my mind nearly tearing in half. Why did that happen? Is Vesper really leaving our alliance? And what about me? Did Echo's proclamation include myself? What am I going to do? I... I can't deal with these kind of things. Not by myself. _Please_ not by myself.

I don't know what to do.

I need _someone_.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Hey, guys! I'm not even going to comment on how I feel about this chapter. But anyway, just know that I'm not going to reveal everything about a tribute on their first POV. These last four chapters were meant for me to get a feel on each tribute. Who I like writing, who I struggle writing, and many other things. So yeah, POVs from here on out may or may not give you more details on the tribute. It depends on the tribute, so yeah.**

* * *

**Anyway, you've finally seen every tribute! Yay! Because of this wonderful occasion, I will have a poll on my profile so you can vote for your top 6 tributes. Please do vote, because not only is it fun, but it'll give me an idea on which tributes are you guys' favorites and least favorites. **

**So yeah. Go and vote. Like, right now. **

**A review would also be heavenly! I know a lot of you are busy during times like this, but you can't even understand how happy reviews make me xD So yeah, please review~**

* * *

**This is a long Author's Note. Time for the questions and personal questions. Y'know, to kinda give you a template on how you may want to review?**

_**What are your thoughts on each of these six tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

**And now for the personal question. **

_**The Chariot Rides have just started. You're dressed in something extremely revealing and pretty ridiculous. Nonetheless, the Capitol still cheers for you. How do you react? Do you put your head down in embarrassment? Do you ignore the fact that you're practically naked and wave and smile? Or do you do something different altogether?**_

* * *

**So yeah, that's pretty much it for me. Next chapter will be Training Day One! From here on out, there will be 4 (or 3) POVs each chapter instead of 6. So expect speedier updates, maybe? Idk.**

**Once again, don't forget to vote and review! I love you all!**

**Bai! ^_^ (Time to catch up on reviews sigh...)**


	10. Training Day One

**Training Day One.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Vesper Quinn, 18;**

**District One Male.**

"Vesper! Sweety! Please wake up, dear!"

I grumble, squinting my eyes at the bright light coming through the window. I bet those Capitol bastards strategically put the window there so the morning light would hit me straight in the face. They'll do anything to piss me off, won't they?

"Vesper! I gave you a few extra minutes of sleep, but you're going to be late if you don't hurry and get up!"

If I was in the right mood, I'd definitely tell Aquila off for waking me up with her incessant chattering. But I'm not in the right mood. I'm definitely not a morning person, and waking up with the sun in my eyes just makes me even grumpier. But I'm not feeling as hostile—so I do nothing but sit up and try to rub the sleepiness away.

"Vesper—!"

"I'm up!" I yell at her, though there's no real feeling put into it. She stops knocking, _finally_, and I can hear a soft sigh escape her lips.

"That's great," she says. "But hurry and take a shower. There should be clothes laid out on the bed for you, too."

True to her words, there's a black and red shirt laid out beside me, with a _1_ placed on the sleeves. The pants are placed right under the shirt, a simple black. Sighing, I climb out of bed and stumble groggily to the bathroom. The fact that these Capitol people are putting so much effort into this just exhausts me. I'm not used to any of this stuff. The hot showers, the luxurious rooms, the un-tattered clothes—all of this is new to me.

Contrary to popular belief, not everyone in District One is rich. I was one of the exceptions. After the war, the Capitol started rounding up the more famously known rebels—and of course, my parents were one of them. After the executions that took place not too long after, I was devastated. Both my parents, dead. And I was alone. I went to each of my friends' houses, begging them to let me live with them...but of course, nobody wanted the son of two rebels in their home. What if they were punished? The _horror_.

So I lived in the park, surviving on whatever I could find. It was tough, obviously, but I'm nothing if not tough. After a few years of homelessness, I eventually found a simple job, and started living uncomfortably in an abandoned shack. I had shelter again, a place to call home. But I wasn't the same. Nobody in District One wanted me when I needed them; nobody in District One cared about me when I needed them; everybody in District One could fucking _die_.

I had grown bitter. But I was an orphan living in a shack, so what _else_ was I supposed to be? District One wasn't the only one I directed my hatred towards. Everyone in the Capitol deserves to _burn_ for what they did, for how they stole my happy life away from me.

They may have been able to kill my parents, but they won't kill me. _Nobody_ will kill me. Because I'm going to win. And if that means I have to get blood on my hands, it's what I'm going to do.

After showering, brushing my teeth, and all the other mundane morning rituals, I put on the clothes and head outside the room. And standing right there, waiting for me, is my idiotic Escort.

"Ugh, you took too long, dear!" She exclaims, reaching to grab my hand—but I pull away before she can touch me, glaring bloody murder. Hasn't she learned by now? "V-Vesper, we do not have time for this! You're expected downstairs in _twenty minutes_. Can you even believe the schedule we're running on?"

Biting back a scathing remark, I turn around and walk away. "You don't need to drag me anywhere. I can walk fine all by myself."

She says something else, but I tune it out, not caring for her or her ridiculous personality. Today is the first day of training, and I'm more than aware of the fact that I have little to no training in fighting with a weapon. Beating up random punks on the street isn't the same as slicing up random tributes to pieces.

But I'm not completely at a disadvantage. Ninety percent of the tributes here probably haven't touched a single blade in their lives, so I'm fine. After these three days are over, I should be able to at least hold my own against those assholes from District Two.

"Well then. Good morning, Vesper." Jewell Galamory smiles at me as I walk into the dining room. Adeline sits at her side, a small smile also on her face, but it's definitely not as sincere as she wants it to be. Her weakness is as clear as the nose on her face.

I grunt, sitting down in front of my Mentor and District Partner without a word. Almost as soon as my butt hits the chair, an Avox comes out of nowhere and places a plate of breakfast in front of me. Yet another thing I'm not used to. For some reason, the sight of all this food makes me angry. It makes me think of how, back in District One, Titan is probably looking around for me. He's the stray dog that comes pester me for food now and again—and even though it irks me sometimes, he's the only thing I'd ever consider a friend.

"You should eat," Adeline murmurs, her smile looking more and more forced. "We have a long day ahead of us, and you don't want Echo and Kostos to be—"

"Shut up," I snap, a hot feeling deep in my chest. Just mentioning those two assholes makes me want to puke. "I told you I'm not going to be in your little alliance, and that's final."

"B-But..!" She struggles to find something to say, and eventually looks to Jewell for help. And Ms. Victor doesn't look the least bit amused.

"Vesper, I heard about what happened after the Chariot Rides yesterday," she tells me, and I just shrug. Who cares what she knows? "Can I at least ask why you decided not to be apart of the Pack? Is it paranoia?"

I scoff. "It's not that. It's just that I don't need them. I don't need help from anyone. Never have, and never will. So shut up and let me eat." And with that, I tear off a piece of the waffles and bring it to my mouth.

And look, it's too crunchy. There must be a conspiracy against me, I swear.

"They've trained, Vesper," Adeline pleads, her voice sad and desperate. It's just _pitiful_. "This alliance happens every year now. Echo and Kostos protects us, while we share with them our sponsors. It's just how things work..."

"And look how amazing it worked last year," I bite back, sick and tired of the both of them, of _everyone!_ Why can't everyone just leave me alone?! Why can't they just see how unimportant and insignificant their lives truly are?! "Both of them _dead_. And who killed the District One girl last year? That's right, the _District Two boy. _You're going to die, Adeline, and don't expect me to hold my tongue and feel sad when you do. Because I won't."

And with that, anger coursing through my veins, I pick up the plate of waffles and launch it at the wall. Adeline and Aquila both shriek in surprise—and with a satisfying _crack_, the plate breaks into itty bitty pieces. Jewell narrows her eyes at me, but I don't care about her. She could've died five years ago, and my life wouldn't have been the least bit different.

My parents would still be dead. I'd still be living off scraps and leftovers. And I'd still have gotten picked for the Hunger Games.

And even if she's here for me or not, dead or alive, I'm going to win. That's for certain.

I don't want anyone. Just like how nobody wants me.

* * *

**Breno Harmont, 17;**

**District Six Male.**

Ceres and I walk out of the elevator into the Training Room, Vita standing behind us with a cheerful smile. She insisted that she'd escort us to the place, and not even Ceres' quiet insults could change the lady's mind. She's determined to help me, I'll give her that, but I'm sure she'll be just as determined to help the next batch of tributes. I'm nothing special...

But does that mean I don't deserve my life? It doesn't. Just like the twenty-three other kids here, I deserve to live. And I'm not going to give up, no matter how pointless it can seem at times...

I look around, immediately seeing the surplus amount of weapons scattered about. Weapons that I've never even seen before, weapons that could—and most likely _will_—kill me. It's all just so intimidating, to be honest. How could these Capitol people expect someone like me to pick up one of these weapons and kill somebody?

"Remember what I told you both," Vita says, bringing me out of my trance of death. I glance at her, and she just smiles. "Scope out the competition. See who's dangerous and who's not. And last but not least, find allies that can protect you in a cinch. Okay?"

Ceres and I look at her like she's grown two heads, which probably isn't unheard of in this crazy city. Everything that she's saying is smart, but how can she expect us two to utilize the information? All that we can do is avoid the dangerous tributes, and then avoid the less dangerous ones. We're the prey here, no matter what, and we'll always be.

_And who'd want to ally with me anyway? That'd be the worst decision anyone could think of..._

Pushing my thoughts away, I nod at my Escort. With a few more unimportant words, she leaves—and just like that, we've taken our very first steps as tributes. Training. Back in District Six, I always wondered what this place looked like. I was a curious child—and I still am. Always living life to the fullest, just in case something undesirable happened. Something like _this_.

After my two brothers died in the war against the Capitol, it was all I could do to not wallow in hate and grief. Etha and Denis, they were both so close and important to me. And the Capitol took it all away with one single battle. Sometimes, when I think of them, it takes everything in me not to scream about how much I hate the Capitol and everyone living in it.

But I'm not stupid. If I say a single word of dissent, they'll kill me. Just like how they killed my siblings. Just like how they're trying to kill me _now_.

After a few minutes of just awkwardly standing around, watching as more and more tributes are brought into the room, a whistle cuts through the silence. I look to the noise, and widen my eyes when I see the same man from the Chariot Rides standing in the middle of the room. With his giant muscles and glaring eyes, he looks more at home here in the Training Room than back in the garage.

"Tributes," he says, so loud that I'm sure the District One Victor upstairs can hear him. "Come form a circle around me. _Now_. Anyone found dilly-dallying will be severely punished. So come!"

Multiple scowls are sent his way, Ceres scowling _and_ sucking her teeth. She walks over to the man, and I follow closely behind. While we aren't allies, we're District Partners, and that's a bond stronger than any other bond I have with anyone else in here. When all of us tributes surround him—I end up standing in the middle of Ceres and the stony-looking guy from District Eight—the big Capitol man starts to speak.

"My name is Vincio, and I am the Head Trainer in charge of this Training Facility. For the next three days, all twenty-four of you will be taken here to train for the upcoming Games. If you'd like some advice from me, I'd say to focus on weaponry skills rather than survival. Anyone can survive, but that'll only prolong the inevitable. If you're going to win, you're going to have to fight, to _kill_."

I repress a frown at that. I want to win, but survival skills are my type of thing. As I said before, I'm the curious type of person that wants to know everything about everything. Now, my small obsession with knowing things can actually help save my life. I'm not going to listen to this man and end up dying because of it. _Not like you'll live anyway, Breno._

I need to shut up.

"After the last training day, each of you will be individually tested by the Gamemakers. Depending on what you show them, you'll be given a score of _1_ through _12_—the former being the lowest in this situation."

I glance at the District Twelve pair standing together, the boy looking slightly miffed at his comment while the girl looks straight to the ground. It's no secret that both tributes of District Twelve always die in the Bloodbath. Suddenly, a weird feeling spreads throughout my body. In a week, both of them could be dead. It doesn't even feel real.

This is just the _worst_.

"Training Scores are important, as you all know. Nobody's going to sponsor the one who got a _3_ over the one with a _8_. So I'm going to advise you all one last time: Survival isn't going to cut your enemy's throat open. As you all progress throughout these days, I hope you spend your time wisely." And with that last little speech, he pushes his way past the District Eleven pair and walks to the stairs. Sitting at the top of the stairs is an elderly-looking man with soft eyes, watching us intently. Who is he?

I shrug, putting the thought to the back of my mind. All of a sudden, instead of brushing up on my intelligent, I want to train with weaponry. I don't know if Vincio's speech really did something, or if it's something else altogether...but I really want to train. Even if I'm most likely going to die, it's harder for me to accept that than it is to work hard and prevent that.

Suddenly, I blink out of my thoughts, realizing I'm the only one still standing at the same spot. I look around, feeling my cheeks flush in embarrassment. Standing next to the knives, Ceres and that little guy from District Five stare at me, the latter snickering. I quickly turn around, walking off to wherever my feet takes me. I don't have any experience with weapons of any kind, so the spontaneous side of myself will have to make the choice for me.

It almost feels like I'm at school again. Granted, I lost most of my friends after I lost my brothers, but that's beside the point. I would always do things by the impulses I get rather than what would be best for me. And apparently, my spontaneous personality wants me to try archery, because that's where my legs lead me to.

I stare at the multiple bows and arrows in front of me. Aren't these things kind of difficult to use?

"Well then, are you going to stare at them all day or are you going to try it?" The woman standing by the station asks me, her Capitol accent not as thick and ridiculous as most Capitolites. I blink at her, pondering the question—and then, I look around.

The District One girl and the District Two pair are mainly loitering around the more dangerous weapons, chatting instead of actually using them. When the District Two girl catches me staring, I immediately look away. I definitely don't want any trouble with them, not when I'm not even in the Arena yet. There's nobody else around the archery station, so I guess I'm the only one interested?

"Yeah, I'll try to use it," I tell her, and a small smile graces the woman's lips. She hands me a bow with a single arrow, telling me how the use it and all the tips and tricks that goes along with it. She's actually pretty helpful. _But she doesn't really care about me. I'm not naive enough to believe I'm important in any way..._

"Now that I taught you the basics," she says after she's done with her lecture. "You should try it out yourself. Remember, don't aim your arrow at another person in this room. Harming or killing anyone else is strictly forbidden."

I nod, kinda already figuring that. Wouldn't want us killing each other without millions of cameras taping it all, right? Shaking that thought out of my head, I nock the arrow, just like how she demonstrated earlier. I line it up with my dominant eye, squinting at the target. And then, after a single breath, I release the arrow.

...And _bullseye!_ The arrow sticks straight into the center of the target, a loud thud reverberating throughout the rather quiet Training Center. I can just feel the multiple eyes on me, but right now, I just don't care. I just made a bullseye on my _first try_. Even though there's a ninety-nine percent chance of it just being a fluke, it really boosts my rather low self-esteem.

"Wow," the woman says, her smile looking just a bit more sincere. "Beginner's luck, obviously, but with practice you could probably be really lethal." I beam at her words, feeling a surge of pride welling through me. It's stupid, I know, and I'll probably never be able to do that again...but still. I'm _buzzing_.

"You have really nice aim," a female voice says from behind me. I whirl around, my guard back up—but standing in front of me aren't the tributes from District One and Two. Instead, it's both the male and female from District Four. Ula and...Caio, right?

I give them an apprehensive nod. "Thank you, but I'm really nothing special. It was just beginner's luck."

Ula giggles at that. Is she playing me right now? "Still, you seem really capable and strangely approachable. We were wondering if you maybe wanted to form an alliance with us?"

The words almost make me fall over. An _alliance? _With _me?_ But why? It's only been a few minutes of training, and already I have alliance offers? And... And why me? I'm nothing special. My mom always tried to tell me otherwise, but I know what I am. And truly, I'm nothing special. Is this some sort of joke?

I look past the girl, focusing on Caio behind her. He has some sort of half-smile on his face, trying to look approachable, obviously. Not the sign of a really sincere person—but still, there's something about him that's almost amiable. Even though I've never met this guy in my life, I feel that...

No, I can't trust him. That's just something about me; living in District Six has hardened me to the fierce reality of things. People are untrustworthy. I can never trust people in the first few minutes, even _days_ of meeting them.

But unlike the other loners of this world, I can _learn_ to trust people. I can learn to trust Ula and Caio. They just have to own it. Meaning I'll give them a chance—just like how I gave Chip a chance, just like how I gave Foran a chance.

"I'll... I'm in," I tell Ula, to which she beams at. "I still don't know what you see in me, but if you want me to, I'll join."

I _do_ see something in Ula, though. She volunteered for her little sister. It reminds me of myself, of what I wish _could've_ happened. More than anything, I wish I was old enough to fight with my brothers in the war. Maybe I could've protected them somehow. Maybe I would've died with them.

That ending honestly sounds better than the ending I'm about to have. The Hunger Games are the absolute worst way to die.

* * *

**Terrance Vallier, 16;**

**District Nine Male.**

I stare at the alliance that was already formed, even though it hasn't even been an hour yet. Ula Dylan and Caio Artelle from District Four, and Breno Harmont from District Six. There's something in me that respects them; the fact that they're already looking for alliances proves how ready they are, how _determined_ they are to win.

But then, the intelligent part of myself just wants to shake it's head. Why would the pair from Four seek out _him_ to alliance with them? Just because he made that one lucky shot, it doesn't mean he's the top dog here.

I glance at the alliance standing beside me. Adeline Callard from District One, and Kostos Sylett and Echo Woods from District Two. If anything, _they're_ the top dogs here. They're basically guaranteed sponsors, and the Bloodbath won't even be a problem for them. If the two from Four were truly serious, they would have tried to ally with _them_.

I snort, standing up from my spot on the floor. The man at the station gives me a curious look, but I ignore him, walking towards the Pack. If I'm going to ally with anyone, it's going to be them. They'll bring me as close as possible to victory—and then, when things start getting tense, I'll cut loose before they start turning on each other.

I'm going to win these Games. And if that means I need to fool a couple of people, I'll do it. I take opportunities when they come to me, and I use them for my benefit.

I'm not a cold-hearted person.

I just want to win.

I'm _not_ going to die. Not after all the hard work it took for me to preserve my life in the first place. Orphaned at a young age, I've never met my parents before—and if I were honest, I don't care _to_ know them. They never needed me, apparently, so I don't need them. I wasn't going to be known as that sniveling orphan child, though. I wasn't going to let my stupid parents choose how my entire life went. So I found a family that agreed to adopt me as long as I helped them around the house.

I wasn't happy, but I was surviving. And my survival means a lot more to me than my happiness. A lot of these tributes won't see it how I see it, and that's exactly why I'm going to have the advantage over them. That's why I'm going to win.

Before I can make it to the three powerhouses, though, someone abruptly slides in my way. I blink, stepping back—and Daniel Church of District Seven grins at me. What does this guy want? He can't possibly want to ally with me, right? For a quick second, multiple scenarios of the Games flash in my head, this guy being my ally. And even though this guy volunteered, the odds of me winning with him as my ally seems lower than the odds of me winning with the Pack.

For a quick second, we just stare at each other in silence. And then, realizing I'm not going to speak, he opens his mouth. "How do you do?"

"What do you want?" I ask, ignoring the question. This is no time for formalities.

The male from District Seven looks me up and down, and his gaze seems to stop at the medallion hanging around my neck. He seems to have a golden medallion, too, but it looks way bigger and fancier. _He could easily take that off and beat someone to death in the Games,_ I note.

"I apologize for my sudden appearance," he mumbles, looking back up at me. "But why do you possess a Peacekeeper's medallion?"

_Some fancy way of speaking you got there, _I think, frowning. "It's my token. Is there a problem with that?"

"You were a Peacekeeper?" He asks. "I presumed all Peacekeepers came from Two." I raise my brow in surprise. It's not common knowledge that Peacekeepers come from either the Capitol or District Two. How does this mysterious volunteer from District Seven know something like that?

I try to shrug—but his hidden intelligence has made me tense. Maybe I shouldn't underestimate these other tributes. Some of them, like this guy, may give me a surprise I won't be able to recover from.

I shift, my guard immediately turned on. "Is there anything you need? If you're asking for an alliance, I'm not interested."

"An alliance?" Daniel stares at me for a moment, before he chuckles. "No, sorry, it's nothing like that. You just really remind me of my brother, that's all." His brother, the one I assume tried to volunteer first. I still am a bit curious on that whole fiasco, but I seriously don't have time to bother with this guy. If the Pack finds someone else to recruit because Daniel decided to distract me, I'm going to be extremely pissed.

"Well..." I don't know how to respond, so I just stare him straight in the eye. Maybe he'll get intimidated and leave me alone.

But instead, he just sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "Actually, that sounded a lot more weird than it did in my head."

"Clearly." I snort.

After a few more seconds of him apologizing sheepishly, he walks away to go sit with his District Partner, Calla Mallow. I roll my eyes and continue my journey over to the Pack. He was so weird, and kinda irritating. But I'll admit, he was interesting. If this thing with the Pack doesn't work out, I guess he'll be my next choice in an alliance.

_But you won't have to worry about that. Because they'll accept you. They'd be stupid not to._

_Yet, it's my acceptance that'll doom them. Ironic, isn't it?_

As soon as I get close enough, Echo stops talking to her allies and turns to glare at me. "What do _you_ want, District Nine?"

Wasting no time, I say, "I'm here to propose an alliance. Let me join you, and I promise, you won't regret it." I may be laying it on a bit thick, but I _do_ need them to accept me. I've already thought of so many different scenarios, and most of them lead to my victory. Without them, my chances go down a bit too low for my liking.

Adeline widens her eyes. "Huh..?"

Kostos immediately grins at me. "This should be interesting."

"Listen..." Echo points at the District One boy, Vesper Quinn, who's slashing dummies by himself. "We already had to kick _that_ dumbass out, and I'm not even sure _this_ spineless female is in either." Adeline looks to the floor, almost ashamed. _Tension in the Pack already? That's perfect. _"So if you expect for us to let some weak kid from District _Nine_ into our pack, you're completely out of your mind."

I puff out my chest, expecting a reaction like that. It'd be suspicious if she just accepted me on the spot. _Now it's time to persuade her._

"I may be from a pathetic district," I say. "But I can assure you that I'm not weak. Give me a chance to prove myself, at least?"

She scoffs, opening her mouth to no-doubt insult me again—but suddenly, her eyes travel down to the medallion hanging around my neck. Being from District Two, I'm pretty sure she knows what it is.

Her eyes travel back up to my face—and although she's still frowning, her gaze has softened considerably. "Peacekeepers Excellence Award? Where did you get that from?"

_Hook. Line. And sinker. _"Back in District Nine, I was a Peacekeeper. Pretty high up in the ranks, too, considering I won something like this." I'm lying, of course, but I'm not here to tell the truth. Whatever it takes to win, I'll do it.

And besides, I'm not completely lying. Dalton was the one to give me the award, but I _was_ a Peacekeeper-in-training. When the war hit District Nine, the family that adopted me was all killed in the bombings. Without anywhere to go, I sided with the Capitol, knowing they'd be the ones to win. It was the logical choice, after all. I told the Peacekeepers that I lost my Capitol-supporting family, and wanted to fight with them. They agreed—and just like that, I was leading a different life, all to stay alive.

It's all about survival, in my books. Nothing can change that. Nothing _will_ change that.

I'm going to win the Hunger Games.

I'm not going to die.

Suddenly seeing me in a different light, Echo gives me a small smile. "Well, you may just be competent enough to join after all. Show us what you can do, and you're in."

I smile. "My pleasure."

_Whatever the cost._

* * *

**Author's Notes: So yeah, I think I gonna call the Careers the "Pack" from now on. I think they'll be called the Careers when D4 finally joins in, which I'm guessing won't be for awhile. So yeah.**

**Anyway, see? I told you chapters are going to get out a lot more often! Each chapter from here on out will have 3 POVs. So yeah, chapters will be out a lot faster. Yay?**

* * *

**All alliances mentioned in this chapter will be posted on the blog, by the way. So go check it out if you need to!**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**It's the first day of training. What do you do first? Catch up on your knowledge? Train with a weapon? Gain an alliance?**_

* * *

**So yeah, that's it for this chapter. Next chapter will be Training Day Two. About halfway done with the Capitol, yeah? I've planned the Capitol chapters out already, so I'm excited for what's to come! Hopefully you all are excited, too!**

**Once again, I'd love a review! Reviews honestly make updates even speedier, because I can't possibly gain the needed amount of inspiration without them. So yeah, I'd love if you all reviewed!**

**And I'm going to keep the poll up a little longer because a lot of people didn't vote yet. So yeah, I really hope you enjoyed!**

**Bai!**


	11. Training Day Two

**Training Day Two.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Kaya Vause, 16;**

**District Eight Female.**

"Kaya." Just like last night, Zander stands in front of me, blocking my way to the kitchen. His face is set in that stone cold stare of his, the one I've come to know all too well. "Ally with me. We'd be good together, I just know it."

I take a step back, giving my District Partner a gentle smile. When I first met Zander a few days ago, he looked so sweet and innocent—and he may still be, under that tough persona he has. The thing is...he's just too controlling. Too persistent in his quest to get me to form an alliance with him. I've never worked well with people who tried to control me, ergo the Peacekeepers. I like him, truly...but it's just something in my gut that tells me allying would be a bad idea.

"I'm sorry, Zander," I say, placing a comforting hand on his arm. Why does it feel like I'm breaking up with him or something? "But I just don't think it'll work out. You're a good guy...but...we just can't ally."

He moves his arm away from my touch—and somehow, it's like the air between us gets thicker and thicker. Zander stares me down—and not one to really be intimidated, I meet his stare head-on. I don't want for there to be hostility between us. I _don't_. But if Zander continues to harass me like this...

Let's just say I'm not _just_ a chatty, amiable girl. I can be friendly, but I can also be ruthless. I can be comforting, but I can also be unnerving. I want Zander and I to keep up a warm relationship. I want him to know that even though we can't be allies, we're still both from District Eight. We're still both in this together, no matter what.

"If you want to live..." His tone gets considerably lower. I shift, frowning. "...then you will ally with me, Kaya. Do you understand?"

My eyes narrow. "Was that a threat, Zander?" Is this really happening right now? Am I seriously arguing with my District Partner whether or not we can form an alliance or not? When I was Reaped a few days ago, a scenario like this never even crossed my mind.

Alliances are tricky for me anyway. How can someone like me even be trusted in the tribute community? After being chained to the chariot yesterday, I'm pretty sure most of the others are going to steer clear. They don't want a loose cannon like me. I just can't help it, though. Whenever I'm around someone from the Capitol, it's hard to control the hate coursing throughout my body. They've just done so much _evil_. They've just given me so much _pain_ and _heartache_.

And now, they're sending me to an Arena to fight for my life. When thoughts like these fill my mind, the affable girl I am disappears. It's replaced with a deep loathing; it's replaced with the intense urge to gain revenge on anything and anyone that's ever hurt me.

Zander takes a step forward—and for a scary second, I'm afraid that he's going to attack me. I'm afraid that the Games have already begun, and my first kill will be my District Partner. I don't want that. I don't want to kill anyone. I don't want to hurt anyone.

_But you will. When push comes to shove, you will protect yourself to the bitter end. _

"Er, am I interrupting something?"

Zander twitches, turning around—and we're met with the grinning face of our Escort, Sabina. In her hand is a bagel, which is typical, but the look on her face rubs me the wrong way. And not even because she's from the Capitol, either. It's...

_Oh. _I blush, realizing just how close Zander and I are to each other. He looks away from our Escort, back towards me—and before I even know what I'm doing myself, I shove him away.

"It's not like that!" I snap at the laughing lady, rushing past the both of them. "Stop laughing! It's not funny! D-Do you freaks even understand English?!"

Sabina continues to laugh, while Zander just has on that blank expression of his. All through breakfast, I'm blushing, refusing to make eye contact with either of them. Sabina's from the Capitol; if Zander and I were to somehow hook up, she'd just see it as drama to make the Games more interesting. She just doesn't understand. And it's sad. Normal teenagers would be able to get together as freely as possible, do as much and be as free as they want. But because of the Capitol, we can't be normal teenagers.

We're tributes. Kids are wielding axes before they can get their first kiss. Hell, _I've_ never even been kissed by a boy yet. _And because of the Capitol, I probably never will. _

Breakfast goes by uneventfully. If things were like yesterday, I would be talking freely with Zander about a multitude of things. Anything to make my District Partner happier. Anything to make him comfortable. But after what just happened, I'm not so sure if I even want to associate with Zander anymore. He _threatened_ me, didn't he? He was about to _hit_ me, wasn't he?

"Alright, you two. Breakfast over. I know, I wish we could eat more, too—but you have duties as tributes that need to be upheld." Sabina ushers us into the elevator, talking all the way down. If she wasn't from this city of evil, I could really see us two getting along. Both of us being nice and talkative and everything.

But she is from this city.

And I'll never be able to forgive.

The door to the elevator opens, and once again, I'm back in a place filled to the brim with weapons. There are a few tributes already here—like the pair from Two, and even the two young ones from Eleven. As Sabina heads back upstairs, and Zander goes off to do his own thing, I can't help but stare at the tributes from District Two. During the war, they supported the Capitol. If they were to have helped us, then maybe none of this would be happening.

But they didn't help. They supported the very people that are so callously sending them to their deaths.

If there are any tributes here that I wouldn't mind getting dirty with, it'd be them.

"Excuse me."

I'm brought out of my dark thoughts by a sweet voice. Turning around, I become face-to-face with the pair from District Three and their thin Escort. Ignoring the lady behind them, I quickly move to the side.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, a small smile gracing my face. They're both so young, so innocent. _They don't deserve this._ "I didn't even realize that I was in the way."

The girl smiles back at me. "It's okay!" And with that, she drags her rather quiet District Partner along to one of the non-weapon sections. I stare at them as they go, something aching in my chest, something akin to jealousy. I wish Zander and I were like them—but unless I agree to become allies, he doesn't want anything to do with me. And why me? Why does he need it to be me so badly? Why can't he find someone else?

I shake off those thoughts, walking away from the entrance before another two tributes decide to come. Honestly, I don't even think I'm jealous of the fact that Zander and I can't be like the pair from Three. I'm jealous of the fact that they can act their age, even in a twisted situation like this. I've never been one to really act my age. Not since my auntie died. And even before that, things were really tense.

My mother was raped by two Peacekeepers, just because she needed to leave work early. My great-grandfather was sick, my mom told me, and she wasn't going to let the Capitol force her to neglect him. Well, the Peacekeepers didn't like that—and nine months after her attack, I was born. Who would want a child from the man that raped them? Nobody would. So you could say I was a bit neglected; my mother wanted nothing to do with me, and neither did her parents. For most of my life, all I could wonder was why. Why did my family resent me?

I should've known. Being the only one in my family with fiery red hair was a dead giveaway.

The only one who gave me the time of the day was my mother's sister, auntie Kiera. She treated me like a real family member should have, but even better. We were practically sisters ourselves. Auntie Kiera and I did everything together, from cooking to working. She taught me how to fight, and I sang to her whenever she was feeling down. She was the greatest thing in my life...

I wipe my eyes, feeling the tears starting to spring up. I can't cry—not here, not in front of these other tributes. Not with the group of Peacekeepers in the corner watching my every step. I refuse to give the Capitol the satisfaction of seeing me break down.

_...I need an escape. _Yesterday, I refused going to any station. I refused to play the Capitol's game. But now, I can't stop my feet from taking me towards the swords. Every day after my auntie died, I practiced with the sword—not only because it was what my aunt taught me to do, but because it was a way to escape reality. If only for a few minutes, I could feel free and limitless.

"You're trying to learn how to use a sword?" The Capitol lady standing by the rack asks me. I roll my eyes, placing the wretched woman out of my mind. _She's not even here. She's not even invisible. She's non-existent. Don't think about her. _

She continues talking, but I tune her out, grabbing a simple sword from the rack. It doesn't feel quite as familiar as the one at home; it feels wrong, deadly, _evil_. Nonetheless, I weigh it in my hands, inspecting the weight and even the sharpness. _Everything seems good._

"Excuse me!" The lady suddenly yells, getting tired of me ignoring her. I give her a glance, clenching the sword in my hands. _Don't do it, Kaya. _"Do you hear me talking to you? I asked if you knew the rules. Don't harm any other tributes with the weapons, or else there will be serious repercussions."

I scowl at the trainer. "I'm more inclined to harming _you_ than the other tributes."

She gasps at that, taking a few steps back. Snorting, I turn back to the pure white dummies, sword held skillfully in my hands. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, feeling the energy buzzing throughout my body.

And then, I charge. I shove my sword through the first dummy, putting as much force as I can muster in it. It comes out through the other side—and then, I slash to the right, putting a deep gash in the dummy. Red cotton flies out, momentarily shocking me stiff...but no, I can't get choked up like this. Picturing the dummies as Peacekeepers, a small smile creeps along my face—and I slash at the others, the ferocity almost shocking me a bit.

A few minutes later, and I'm done. The dummies around me are all tattered to pieces, red cotton littering the ground. For a second, the severity of the situation I'm in goes away, and I'm _free_. But then, that second is replaced by another, and the emotions filling my chest are almost suffocating.

_I just want aunt Keira back. _

_I just want to go home. _

"Hey there!" Someone suddenly taps me on my shoulder. I spin around—and I'm met with the faces of the pair from District Four and the boy from District Six. I take a step back, stunned—and in the corner of my eye, I see Zander watching from afar.

What do these three want with me?

The lone girl takes a step up, smiling a warm smile. "Hi. You're Kaya Vause from District Eight, right? I'm Ula Dylan, and the two boys behind me with the terribly fake smiles are Caio Artelle and Breno Harmont." Oh, I remember them now. Ula volunteered for her younger sister, Caio refused to take his Escort's trident, and Breno was the one who tried to be funny during the Reapings.

Caio sucks his teeth, playfully shoving Ula's shoulder. "Don't tell her that, Ula!" Ula laughs, shoving him back, while Breno just stands to the side, an awkward aura surrounding him.

I smile a little. "Yes? Do you guys...want something?" I can't stop the hopefulness from seeping into my voice. Never did I actually think that someone would come to me for an alliance. Especially _three_.

Ula, being the spokesperson, quickly holds out her hand. "We'd love for you to form an alliance with us! Are you in?"

Grinning now, I take her hand, enthusiastically shaking it. Maybe it's because they all seem so friendly, but I feel that I can trust them. And the fact that they feel like they can trust _me_ is great as well.

"Of course I'm in," I say, nodding my head. Ula's face brightens considerably, while Caio and Breno both give some sort of half-grin.

_Maybe, like the two from Three, we can act our age. I can learn to be a real teenager, even in this hopeless situation. _

_Even in this cursed society._

* * *

**Daniel Church, 17:**

**District Seven Male.**

"You've been awfully distant for a while now," Calla says, suddenly sitting down next to me. Last time I saw her, she was training with the axes. The girl smiles, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Is anything wrong? Not gonna bother anyone else today?"

Looking away from the target in front of me, I smirk, leaning in closer to her. "What, would you like for me to bother you?"

My District Partner laughs, shoving me away. "You're just too much, I swear."

I shrug, chuckling along. Calla's a nice girl, and she's pretty funny, too. While my shameless flirting gets me nowhere, it's still fun to mess with her. And there's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun before the Games, right? I don't think there is.

Besides... Twenty-three of us won't live to see next month. It's best I enjoy myself here as best as I can, until the blood starts to spill and I have to become the one thing I never wanted to be. A _tribute_.

I furrow my brows, suddenly deep in thought. A volunteer that doesn't want to be a tribute. Isn't that kind of poetic? Or maybe it's just stupid. Whatever it is, it's true—I _don't_ want to be here. I just didn't want Luke getting caught up in any of this. Ever since these Games began, my younger brother has had such a sick fascination with it.

But no, he wasn't enamored by the death itself. He was enamored by the _opportunity_. He always came home telling me how he'd win the Hunger Games, and then gain support from others in his prestiged position. He'd start another rebellion against the Capitol—but this time, we'd _win,_ and he'd somehow take control of Panem as the new President.

I couldn't let that happen. For starters, the odds of my brother dying in the Games were way too high. He's only fifteen-years-old; he's just so impatient, so arrogant. Secondly, I couldn't let another war happen, on the off-chance that he _did_ win. So many lives have been lost already. So many men, women, children—all of them lying six feet underground, because of human beings' _selfishness_. Because of _hate_.

One day, I hope Panem changes. I hope, for the first time in forever, we will be able to love each other instead of kill each other. I hope the Capitol will stop forcing the twelve districts to send in children to kill. I hope the Capitol can help the districts, rather than starve them and force them to work. I just hope...

I just hope nobody else has to needlessly die. I just hope the entire world can one day find peace.

"So, Daniel," Calla starts, a pensive look in her eyes. I blink out of my thoughts, answering to the name given to me. It's not my real name—but when my parents sent my brother and I to District Seven, we had to smudge our identities a bit. Nobody wanted to be associated with rebels, not back then. Peacekeepers killed for far less.

"Yes, Calla?"

"Why _are_ you actually training instead of aimlessly walking around? Did Sylvan tell you something?"

I snort, shrugging a bit. "No, Sylvan doesn't particularly bother with me much. I just...wanted to get a bit of training in today. See what I know and what I don't know." While I'm talking, I aim the knife in my hands at the target in front of me, eyes squinted. When swinging around a weapon, I feel that I can possibly best everyone in here. But I've never had to throw knives before. And I feel it's best to at least get acquainted with the skill, because what if knives are the only things in the cornucopia?

Doubtful, but possible. I like being prepared for everything, because...because I don't want to die. I may put on this pretentious front most of the time, and I may flirt a lot...but I really don't want to die. The medallion around my neck just proves how desperate I can be, if pushed to a certain point.

Swiftly, before I can mess myself up, I throw the knife. It spins through the air, a loud whistling sound accompanying it—and seconds later, it lands itself in the wood. Not a bullseye, unfortunately...but I can work with this. I'm nothing if not a quick learner.

Calla grins at me, clapping her hands. "Good job, Daniel! Have you even done this before?"

I shake my head, smiling right back at her. "No, but I _do_ possess a rudimentary understanding of combat tactics. I've had multiple tutors in my lifetime, and they constantly mentioned how much of a prodigy I am." Suddenly, a bad feeling envelops the pit of my stomach. "Um, is it obvious? I don't want anyone to find out about me, or see me as a threat or anything..."

That'd be bad. If the two from District Two put me on their hit-list, the Games will be a lot more difficult to overcome. I don't need them to target me during the Bloodbath. My plan is to get through this fairly undetected, and go all out when I get far enough in the Games. Volunteering has already made me look like someone I'm so clearly not...

Calla raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "I don't think so. I mean, they'd have to really be paying attention to you..." She sighs, momentarily looking away. "You're so lucky, Daniel. It's like the world has been preparing you for this exact situation. Compared to you, I'm just..."

She trails off. I open my mouth to disagree, to bring her spirits up—but she quickly puts a smile back on her face, bringing a finger to my lips.

"Don't say anything. I can kind of guess what you'll say anyway."

I smirk, holding her hands in mine, keeping her finger pressed to my lips. "Well, instead of talking, we can do something more worthwhile..."

"_Daniel_." She wrenches her hand away, her eyes and her mouth saying two different things. "For the last time, _no_. You've got better luck making out with the District Two guy than me."

I chuckle, looking away from my District Partner. "You're probably right. His name is Kostos, right? Not too bad-looking. Yeah, I can get with that..."

"I wish you could understand just how weird you are."

"I think everyone has a bit of weird in them. It's just how you show it." I stare at Calla, feeling something weird in my chest. I've never really had a conversation this fun and playful with anyone in District Seven. When Luke and I first moved, we were fairly...unimpressed with everyone. We stayed to ourselves. Everything was too foreign to get used to, so we just didn't get used to it. We created our blacksmith shop, only hoping to survive. We didn't realize how popular it'd make us.

I'm a bit more diverse than my brother, at least. I can deal with all kinds of people. I've just never really had..._friends_. There were girls I flirted with, boys I flirted with—but no real friends. Nobody to talk to me like Calla is now.

Is it because we're both only a few days from death? Is that what's bringing two different people together?

"You know what?" I say, walking away from the knives and motioning for her to follow. She does. "I feel like we need some allies. There are a bunch of tributes in here, and it would suck for us to be attacked by a bigger alliance."

Her eyes widen, before another smile graces her lips. "I think that's a great idea. But who?"

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"Hmm..." She looks around the large training room, humming to herself. Suddenly, her eyes stop at the District Nine girl, who's slashing at a dummy with her machete. "How about her? She seems friendly, and strong, too."

I frown, shaking my head. "Toren Ingalls? Yeah, I already talked to her yesterday. Politely declined when I asked if she wanted to have a good time."

Calla doesn't even comment on that, too used to my comments. "Okay. How about the District Ten girl? The one that's always smiling?"

"I remember her. London Tienna. Yeah, she informed me that she already has a boyfriend, unfortunately."

"How about her District Partner? He seems nice, right?"

"Ricky Laris? After my proposal, he couldn't even stutter out an answer. Perhaps I was a bit too forward..."

Calla suddenly groans, shoving me. I laugh, swatting her hands away whenever they get too close. What? It's not my fault. I just wanted to get to know everyone yesterday. As I said, these tributes feel like it's easier to hate each other, because then it'll be easier to kill each other. But no, I don't... I don't want that to happen. Hate is ruining this world. I want us all to be cordial with each other, at least until...we're forced to do unspeakable things.

"Is there anyone you _haven't_ scared away?" She asks me, frowning now. I ponder that thought for a bit, looking around the room to survey. I didn't bother the Twelves, but they don't seem like the most ideal alliance to be in. It's sad, and I wish I could help...but their bad luck in the Games is infamous by now. I talked to the two from District Eleven, offering to protect them in the Bloodbath if they ally with Calla and I...but they didn't seem too keen on the idea.

_Anyone else? _I look around the room, surveying each station. I see the District One guy training with the tomahawks, the District Five girl tying ropes...

And that's when I see them. The District Three tributes—Iris Logan and Tet Kender. If anything, I really pity the younger tributes. If they had to have been chosen for the Hunger Games, why couldn't it have been in a few years? Why did they have to be condemned to a fate of death at such an early age? It's not fair.

Once again, I find myself disliking the Capitol. _Savages. _Sending little children to their untimely deaths... It's the worst thing ever. It's only right for me to be able to assist them. If only to keep them alive a little longer...

"Them." I point towards the two from Three, already walking towards their little section. "I haven't messed with them yet. We can form an alliance with them. We can _save_ them, Calla." My District Partner follows behind, questioning me—but one thing about Calla is that she's too sweet, too delightful. While others may scoff and call me silly, she'll stick through with me, because she's too good of a person.

We reach them, Tet fiddling with wires while Iris encourages him. The trainer is an old man, a warm smile on his face as he watches them. When he sees us standing behind them, though, his smile falters.

"This station is pretty occupied," the man says, sending worried looks towards Tet and Iris. The girl looks up at us and smiles, though, while the boy just continues working. "I would tell you two to wait a bit, but it's almost lunchtime. Can you maybe come back early tomorrow?"

"There's no need for that, sir," I reassure, giving a warm smile. "We're not here to cause any trouble. We would just like to talk with them for a bit, if that's okay?"

I know what he thinks. We're two older kids, about to kick these two out of their station. And considering I volunteered, I'm instantly given a bad image. But I'm not bad, and I'd never mess with these two. Assumptions are one thing I find distasteful, because you never really get to know a person without associating with them first.

"Yes?" Iris asks, her brown eyes big and trusting. _Not fair. _"Do you...need help with something?"

"Of course not, sweetie," Calla says quickly, bending down and smiling at them. Now that she sees how innocent they truly are, I can already see her getting attached. "I'm Calla Mallow, and this is my friend Daniel Church. We actually wanted to know if you two would like to...maybe work together? Form an alliance?"

Before the girl can answer, Tet manages to finish doing whatever he was doing, because the three lights at the end of the table flash up. The old man gasps, quickly congratulating the kid on arranging the wires perfectly. Apparently, it's a really difficult thing to do, especially at his age.

I smile, the gears in my brain whirring. Maybe this alliance won't just be me protecting them. Maybe I can use him to benefit us all.

"Tet?" Iris nudges her District Partner, and he finally looks up. When he sees us standing above them both, his eyes widen. Was he so focused that he didn't even notice us? "Calla and Daniel asked us for an alliance! Do you think we should accept?"

Tet blinks, his gaze slowly assessing the both of us. And then, he tilts his head. "If... If you'd like?"

There's a heartbeat of silence, before Iris cheers. "Yay! We'll all work together then! We're allies!"

I smile at them. "That's great. I'm glad that we'll able to assist each other."

Even if I have to become a tribute, I'm not going to throw away my morals. I'm not going to betray my allies, or do anything to hurt them. I'm not going to turn into a monster.

_But is that even possible? _Yes, it is. It has to be possible.

I'll make it possible.

* * *

**Eion Daltier, 18;**

**District Twelve Male.**

"Tributes!" Vincio is standing in the middle of the room again, like he does whenever he has something important to say. Unnecessary, maybe, but everything the Capitol seems to do is unnecessary. "Training for today is officially over! Head over to the cafeteria for lunch, and then leave to your appropriate places when you are finished. Just like yesterday. Please don't make this difficult."

I smile, giving Isabel a knowing look. "Food, _finally_. I almost thought they'd start to starve us."

My District Partner smiles back at me, getting up from her place on the mat. Today, we focused on survival skills, unlike yesterday when we tried out different weapons. I found out that I was best adapted to using a spear, surprisingly, while Isabel tried her hands with a scythe. She wasn't the best at it...but she tried. And trying is the best thing we can do right now...

I try to keep the frown from showing on my face, but Isabel notices it anyway. I'm not the best at keeping in my emotions, I admit. Isn't it better to let other people know how you feel anyway? If I were to bottle up the emotions I feel on a daily period, I'd probably _explode_.

"What's wrong?" She asks me, before she blinks and holds out her hand. "Do you need help getting up?"

"No, it's not that." Already, the other tributes are lining up, lunch trays in their hands for the Capitol lady to serve them. I get up from the ground, dusting myself off, and then look Isabel straight in the eye. "I just had a thought. A bad one, about where we are and what we're doing...and I don't like it. I don't like any of this, Isabel..."

She furrows her brows, the worry showing a mile away. That's what I like about my District Partner; even though we're in the Capitol, training for the Hunger Games, with twenty other teenagers that will be trying to kill us...she still has a good heart. She's still a person that genuinely cares about others, about _me_, and she won't let the Capitol take that away from her.

They may take her life, but they won't take away her humanity. Neither will they take mine.

"I know, it's terrible..." She looks to the floor for a second, contemplating what else to say. But then, she looks back up at me, her eyes watering. "And it's only going to get worse, I-I think. But we can get through it...right?"

My face twitches into a smile. "Probably not, but we'll damn well try!"

She doesn't respond to that, but the smile on her face says it all. We'll _try_. The Games aren't meant for people like us, but that doesn't mean we'll just give up. I'm not an overly optimistic person; I'm not going to kid myself into thinking everything will work out. I'm honest to a fault, maybe, but that's just who am I am.

I'll _try_ to win the Hunger Games. The odds are completely against me, but...but maybe I'll be the first. Maybe I'll be the first guy from District Twelve to win the Hunger Games! _But first, you'll have to survive the Bloodbath—and Panem knows that's never happened yet. _

Shaking those thoughts outta my head, I grin at Isabel, my mood once again chip.

Until Vincio has to open his mouth again. "Hey, District Twelve!" He says, _loudly_, causing everyone to focus on us. I realize just know that we're the only two tributes not in the cafeteria yet. "What's the hold up? You can stand like that during the Bloodbath, but when I say to go to the cafeteria, _you go to the cafeteria._"

Isabel looks straight to the ground, blushing. She mumbles an apology, hurrying to the cafeteria—but I stare straight at Vincio, not backing down. I'm not a rebellious person; being a normal teenage boy, I've obviously gotten in trouble with teachers here and there, but nothing serious. _This_, though, is serious.

I don't hate everyone from the Capitol. I mean, it's not like the regular citizens specifically have the power to put us in the Games. It's the ones _with_ power that I despise—like Nerva, and President Kronin, and the old twisted Gamemaker that stares at everyone as we train.

And Vincio. I _hate_ Vincio. Every time he picks on Isabel and I, my cheery smile vanishes, and an intense loathing bottles up in the pit of my stomach. And I have to let it out. I wouldn't be me if I didn't stick up for myself.

"Why're you such a bully?" I ground out, clenching my fists. "Just because you're this big bad trainer from the _Capitol_ doesn't make you any better than me." As soon as the words leave my mouth, the entire room goes quiet. Even the chatty tributes from District Two stop to look at what's going on. In the corner of my eye, I see Isabel watching intently, silently pleading me to stop.

_And maybe I should. Dammit, I'm gaining too much bad attention, and I really don't want to be targeted during my time in the Games. I'm just so impulsive sometimes, damn—!_

"_What_ did you just say?" Vincio demands, and it's now I realize that I'm not gonna be able to just silently relent. "Apologize, Twelve, or the Bloodbath won't be your only problem." There's a few chuckles at his little joke, but not a smile crosses my face.

"You have no right to just discriminate against Isabel and I just because we're from Twelve!" I yell, taking a few threatening steps forward. I'm angry, _so_ angry that I could just blow. "So what if we're the least populated? So what if our tributes haven't yet survived longer than a few minutes? _We'll_ survive—and when one of us wins, you'll be sorry."

If Adina could see me now, yelling at this douche, she'd have broken down in a fit of giggles. As I said, I may be one to get angry easily, but I'm not one to regularly yell at adults. This adult, though, isn't the regular teacher from Twelve.

I shove past Vincio, ignoring his rippling muscles. If he wanted, right now, he could bend me like a stick. But thankfully, he just lets me go right on by, an amused look on his greasy face.

"Now that's a tribute," I hear him mumble, before he starts to laugh. "Don't lose that fire, Twelve, and I may just be as sorry as you think I'll be."

I ignore the man, picking up a tray and letting the Capitol lady put various foods on it. The entire cafeteria is still silent as I walk my way to sit with Isabel, and I feel my face heat up after a while. Why is everyone still looking at me? As I sit down, though, a bit of laughter comes from the table occupied by the two from Two, the girl from One, and the boy from Nine—and just like that, the thick feeling in the air vanishes, and the cafeteria is once again filled with mild chatter.

Isabel doesn't say anything, her eyes focused on the plate in front of her. I don't even look at my food, debunking another District Twelve stereotype that we'd all go crazy for some food. I mean, _some_ probably would—but what else can you expect? A lot of us are homeless, living out in the streets. Unlike them, I was lucky enough to be born in the richer side. I grew up _wanting_ to help the various homeless kids and adults, but I didn't...because there just wasn't anything I could do.

Looking back at it, there probably _was_ something I could do to help. My parents aren't home very often; maybe I could have snuck them out some food once in a while. Maybe. Now that I'm here, though, I can't do anything.

Except try to survive. _Try_.

"This sucks," I grumble, picking at the colorful lunch with my fork. After all that mess that just happened, I'm not nearly as hungry as I was. Looking up at my District Partner, I see that she hasn't touched any of her food either. "I'm sorry, Isabel. I just don't like when people..."

"It's okay. I understand." Isabel still doesn't look up at me, but the fact that she understands makes me feel a whole lot better. I thought my impulsive desire to defend myself ruined this alliance—or worse, ruined this friendship. But no, everything is good. Good.

The anger and dread quickly washing away, I grin, bringing some macaroni and cheese to my mouth. Just like that, I go from angry to happy. That's just how I am. I'm an emotional person, but there's nothing wrong with that.

"Anyway, I think we should definitely get an alliance, Isabel," I tell her. She looks up at me this time, her eyes wide.

"Huh?"

"Don't you think that's a good idea?" I ask, taking a bite out of a piece of chicken. I motion my hands towards the other tributes, a lot of them sitting together and chatting. It reminds me of how I was with my friends back in Twelve. Always laughing, always hanging out—it was the good life, the _best_ life.

I want that again, even if it'll be illusory, even if it'll tear apart the moment we enter the Arena.

"So what do you say? Do you think we should seek someone out tomorrow, or what?" I take a sip of juice, licking my lips when I put the cup back down. "I really want someone else, but I do want you to still be happy. So..."

"Oh! Um, y-yeah, that's okay." She smiles back at me, taking a sip out of her own cup. "Numbers are important, right? I think you're totally right..."

I laugh, standing up from my seat. "Awesome! But, umm, who will we even choose? I'd like someone that's nice, but..." I look around at the tributes who're still here and eating, though most of them are gone. There's that big alliance still here, the two from Three and the two from Seven, but I don't really want to be in something that big. The other big alliance that's still here is the pair from Four, the boy from Six, and the girl from Eight...but just like the one prior, it's too big.

Are there any other people left? I'd like to at least _know_ who we're going to try and recruit before tomorrow, but it doesn't seem like that's going to be possible. I should've thought about recruiting someone else earlier—but hey, I'm a teenage boy, and procrastination is basically in my blood.

I look back at Isabel, about to break the news that we'll have to search long and hard tomorrow—but then, I notice the black-haired guy sitting by himself, slowly eating with a downtrodden expression on his face. He's the District Ten guy, right? I don't remember him much from the Reapings...but hey! He's alone!

"Him, Isabel!" I exclaim, pointing at the guy while rushing over towards him. My District Partner makes a noise of confusion, but follows me anyway. When the District Ten guy notices me, his face lights up in confusion and mild terror. "Hi! I'm—uh, well I know this is really sudden—but I'm Eion Daltier, and this is Isabel Abriani. We just noticed you sitting here alone, and...and we were wondering if you wanted to be allies?"

Suddenly, I feel extremely awkward, like I just said something insanely dumb. Is this how you ask someone to work together in a fight to the death? And what if this guy isn't who I think he'll be? He looks nice, and I'm usually a good judge of character...but...

The District Ten boy looks at me in shock, before slowly looking at Isabel, who gives him a sweet smile. He blushes, looks backs at me, and seems to blush even harder. Shy much?

"I..." He stumbles over his words a bit, before he looks to the table. "An alliance..? I'd...really like to be in an alliance." And then he smiles, the kind of genuine smile that tells me we've hit the jackpot. "I'm Ricky Laris...by the way."

"That's great!" I laugh, the awkwardness rolling off in waves. It was irrational of me to be worried, I guess. In the end, we're all teenagers here. We're all so very alike in so many ways.

We don't deserve this. None of us deserves to be in this place. The Hunger Games are cruel, evil. I _hate_ the Games. But sadly, I know it'll never go away. The Capitol will continue to kill kids, every year...

But maybe, one day, something might change. I might not be a bundle of optimistic joy, but I'm still a good guy. I still want for there to be a change, even if it might take decades. I'd like that, at least.

I'd like that a lot.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Hey guys! I know, this took extremely long. But I was really busy, and it took nearly everything in me to try and update. So yeah, I'm sorry about that. But here it is! Training Day Two! I really hope it wasn't too bad. ^_^|||**

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**Congratulations to Kostos Sylett for winning 1st place in the poll! Yay! The other results are on my profile, so go check it out! :D**

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**Once again, I'm really thankful for all the reviews I get. Getting 103 reviews is just wow. I'm so, SO very grateful. It keeps me writing, you know? But I'm sure you guys have heard this exact same thing from 10,000 other writers xD But again, thank you all so much, and I hope I can continue getting more and more!**

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**As I said last chapter, all alliances formed in this chapter will eventually be added to the blog. So go check it out if you need to, okay?**

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_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**It's the second day of training, and the Careers have started to bully the other tributes, including yourself. What do you do? Do you take the bullying, in hopes that they'll eventually leave you alone? Do you fight back, knowing that you're painting a huge target on your back? Would you do anything else?**_

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**So yeah, that's it for this chapter. Next chapter will be Training Day Three, not involving the Gamemaker Sessions. I hope you're excited, because I'm excited! **

**Bai!**


	12. Training Day Three

**Training Day Three.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Alexandra Fearn, 14;**

**District Five Female.**

I wake up to the sound of Drusas banging on my door, yelling for me to get up. I roll over on my side, putting my face away from the light coming from the window. Grumbling to myself, I try my hardest to ignore my Escort.

But that's easier said than done.

"Alexandra, you open this door right now! I _know_ you're awake!" His banging gets harder, and mentally, I smirk. _Dumbass. Do you seriously not have a key to my room? Why am I the only tribute that's ever thought of this?_

But I know they do have a key; he's just too much of an idiot to go and find it. I know, in the end, I'm going to be forced out eventually, and I'm going to get in trouble—but it gives me a few more minutes of sleep, and makes Drusas angry, so I don't mind getting in trouble.

It's not like they can do much to me anyway. I think forcing me to fight to my probable death is punishment enough. _Oh, but wait. They didn't force you. You volunteered—and quite forcibly, too. Smart move, Ali._

Something hurts. Something deep in my chest, an ache that's not quite painful but emotionally taxing instead. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing back the tears. I've done good so far, putting on this angry and rebellious act. And I _am_ angry and rebellious, but that doesn't change the fact that my entire family and I are going to end up very dead very soon.

I'm tired. Exhausted, even. I've gone through these few past days pretty well by acting like this is a dream, by acting like this is some stupid joke rather than a fight to the death. As long as I can bring the Hunger Games to the back of my mind, I can go through the day being my rude and critical self.

But sometimes, times like this, I can't help but think of where I'm soon going and what I left behind. I go through my days arguing with Drusas, rejecting Michael's alliance attempts, avoiding the other tributes, and then coming back to this comfy bed to cry myself to sleep. In the end, I'm still just a fourteen-year-old.

I still don't want to die.

But I was angry. I was so, so angry at the Capitol for killing my father during the war. My brother and I started altering the electronics used in the factories of Five, and I in turn used those electronics to hack into confidential Capitol files. I sold those files to the remaining rebels in District Five—and that was how I went through life back home. It was a way of rebelling, a way of gaining revenge.

But on the day of the Reaping, the Peacekeepers found my brother and I trying to gain some more important information. We ran to the Square, hoping beyond hope that they didn't identify us—but they _did_ identify us. They would execute me. They would execute my brother. They would execute my mother, even though she had nothing to do with our business. I had to volunteer. It was the only way of keeping my family and I safe. They couldn't harm me if I was a tribute, and they couldn't harm my family, either, because they need them for Interviews.

So for the moment, they're safe. We're all safe. _But only for the moment. When the Games start, can I honestly win? Can I save everyone I love?_

Noticing that Drusas has stopped knocking on the door, I quickly wipe my eyes free of tears. As soon as I finish, I hear the lock click—and standing in my doorway is Drusas, Michael, and a red-headed Avox with a ring of keys in her hands. Locking the gentle parts of my personality away, I embrace my abrasive side, smirking at the trio.

"Yes? Is there a problem here?"

It takes a moment for Drusas to respond. His face goes through a multitude of emotions, before they stop at irritation. "You really piss me off, girl."

"I could say the same thing."

With a flamboyant groan, my Escort stomps away, shouting at me to hurry and get dressed before he calls the Peacekeepers. The Avox also hurries away to whatever avoxes go and do. The only person standing in my doorway is Michael, his face set in an uncharacteristic frown. What's wrong with _him?_

"You just gonna stand there and stare at me?" I ask, sliding out of the bed. He doesn't answer; instead, it's almost as if he gets sadder. Did I do something to him? "Well, whatever. I'm going to get undressed—so unless you want to see a naked girl in front of you, I suggest that you get out. Actually, maybe you should get a good look at a naked girl before you die..."

I'm joking, obviously, but Michael doesn't seem to see anything funny. "_Ali_," he says, stern and totally un-Michael-like.

Something pinches the inside of my chest—something that makes me horribly sad. _Don't break down. Not in front of this kid._

"Don't call me that." My tone is closed off, defensive. I stare at Michael, and he stares right back at me. What happened to the goofy little brat from before? What happened to my old fri— _No. Stop, Ali. Don't think about that. Please just...don't think about him. _

"Alexandra," he corrects, his stare turning just a bit softer. "Why... Why won't you ally with Ceres and I? It's the third day, and you still don't have anyone! You could—"

Oh. This again. I should've know. "I'm not forming an alliance with anyone," I tell him for the umpteenth time. He stutters for another response, but I cut him off once again. "_Michael_. I told you this before, and I'm not going to change my mind. I don't _want_ to work with anyone. How can I seriously trust someone when, in the end, everyone is for themselves?"

Even back in District Five, I was never the most social person. I'm a solitary girl, and it was always a bit awkward when it came to talking with my peers. The girls back in Five were too shallow and interested in pointless things, while I was always the top of my class. Boys didn't talk to me, either, because I was just too critical of them. There was nothing that connected me to anyone back home, minus my older brother and mother.

_Well, you had one friend. _But I don't think about him. I _can't_ think about him. Not here, not when his freaking _doppelganger_ is standing right in front of me.

I have to keep up my walls. If Michael were to get too close, and then _die_...

I can't handle that pain anymore. I'm more fragile than people take me for. When they see me, all they recognize is the rude girl with a stick up her ass. _But if they were to look deeper, just a bit deeper..._

Michael looks on the verge of hugging me. He takes a step forward—but I bring my hand up, keeping the boy at bay. "Ali—"

"Don't call me that, Elijah!" I scream—and almost instantly, a fog of dread envelops the room. _Elijah. _I called him... Oh no. My District Partner looks stunned, before a confused glint appears in the corner of his eye.

"Eli—?"

"Get out of my room," I snap, feeling the familiar sting in my eyes. His mouth opens again, but I shake my head, harshly shoving him away. "Get _out_. Get out, get out, _get out!_"

With one last shove, he falls to the floor, and I slam the door. Trying to keep my composure, I run my hand through my black hair, but it doesn't work. I can't stop the flood of memories from infiltrating my brain. I can't stop thinking about my dead friend, the only person who ever really gave me a chance.

Elijah Pettis, the male tribute of District Five for the third Hunger Games. When he was Reaped, I didn't know what to do. I knew he was a goner, but he had a sense of optimism that actually made me momentarily believe he would be coming back.

And he _did_ come back. I just wish it wasn't in a pine box.

Gutted in the stomach during the Bloodbath, it took everything in me not to go crazy. My only friend was dead. Nobody understands what something like that could do to a person, could do to _me_. Everyone thought that I was okay, that I was the same old girl with a bad attitude. Hell, some people even thought I didn't care about Elijah. But I did care. I wasn't okay.

I don't usually think about him. I spent most of my attention helping the rebels, mainly so I didn't have _time_ to think about him. Even when I was standing onstage during the Reaping, I didn't let the name _Elijah Pettis_ infect my brain.

But then I saw Michael—and he looks exactly like Elijah, sounds exactly like Elijah, _acts_ exactly like Elijah. It torments me, having to see Michael everyday, knowing that he's going to end up just like my dead best friend.

And maybe I will, too.

Maybe I'm going to die. _Alone._

* * *

**Caio Artelle, 17;**

**District Four Male.**

"So what are we going to do today?" Kaya asks, grinning that cheery grin of hers. Breno is standing right next to the redheaded girl, a content smile on his face as well. Ula, too, looks perfectly happy with things. _So is it just me? Am I the only one feeling this way?_

"Hmm..." My District Partner thinks that question over a bit, before bouncing it back at the District Eight girl. "What do you think we should do?"

"I have my suggestions, but I'd like to give you guys a chance to say something," she says in response, still smiling. Usually, I'd be a bit alarmed at how nice this girl is. Is she trying to lower our defenses, so that she can kill us in the Arena? Is she trying to manipulate us into protecting her, so that she can bring her way to victory without moving a muscle?

The more I stare at Kaya, the less I feel these paranoid thoughts of mine are true. Just because she's nice doesn't mean she's a killer in disguise. Besides, Ula already asked her why she was chained to her chariot, and Kaya answered honestly that she tried to kill her stylist.

It was more funny than unnerving, to be honest.

"Well, we could train a bit more. Today we have to show that old Gamemaker what we learned, so we might as well become more acquainted with what we have," Ula says, looking at both Kaya and Breno before stopping at me. "Or do you think we should do something else?"

I look around, just in case someone is trying to listen in on us. Paranoid, maybe, but I'd like to be safe rather than sorry.

"I think training with the weapons is a good idea," I agree, forcing the smile on my face. _Or maybe ending this alliance will be a better idea. _"The higher our scores, the more sponsors we'll get."

Ula nods at that, before turning to our quietest ally. "Breno?" She says. "What do you think?"

"I think one of us should focus on gaining knowledge," he answers almost immediately. A confused look crosses the girls' faces. "Think about it. If three of us focus on weaponry and get a high score, the sponsors will be noticing us anyway. The fourth member could focus on the survival stations, and help us look for edible food and stuff in the Arena. It's always nice to have at least one smart guy than a bunch of brutes."

"Or we'd be nothing more than those lowlifes from Two," Kaya growls, a scowl flashing across her face. But almost immediately after, she gives Breno a small smile. "I think that's a great idea. Besides, I'd rather find food myself than have to rely on those Capitol assholes."

"So it's agreed, then?" Ula asks, looking around. Kaya and Breno nod, but I hesitate. Breno's plan practically demands all of us to work together in the Arena. And I just don't know if I like that idea anymore. At first, when Ula mentioned allies, I went with it because it kinda seemed like a good idea at the time.

But now, I just don't know... What if they backstab us? Kaya and Breno don't seem like the type, but...I can never be too sure of other people's intentions. In the end, we're all here to win. And desperation, _fear_, can do a lot to a person's mind.

I know that all too well. During the Rebellion, my mother hid rebels inside our farm while my father fought on the frontlines. My sister and I stayed with my mother, and from her I learned how to be truly courageous. She aided the rebels, knowing full-well the risks associated. And I helped, too, because I wasn't going to just sit around like a coward.

My father was different, though. He fought, sure, but never did he directly influence a battle's outcome. Never was he truly a hero. And on one fight, the fight that determined whether the Capitol would regain control of District Four, he ran away. He abandoned his comrades and left them all to die.

He should have _died_. He should have died a hero, rather than live like a coward.

It was the fear that controlled his decision. The desperation to stay alive. If my own father could do something like that, how can I trust that these two strangers won't? How can I even trust that _Ula_ won't?

_I don't want to be in this alliance anymore. _

I want to win—but if I'm going to die, I'll do it with honor. I'll never let someone see me beg for my life.

"I..." I'm about to tell them that I'm going to disband from the alliance, that I just can't force myself to stay. _But what if they don't betray me? What if this group is the thing that keeps me alive? _"I... I think Breno's idea is the best one. One of us should focus on survival skills while the other three focus on their weapons."

In the end, my emotions are too volatile to really make a choice. I have my reasons for leaving, but I also have my reasons for staying. This whole experience is giving me mixed feelings, and I just don't like it. _But you always feel this way. Even with simple things like choosing what time to eat, you just can never make a choice. _

_And that's what's gonna get you killed. _

A shiver suddenly runs down my spine. While my allies are busy discussing who's going to be the one to focus on survival, I look around again, trying to find the reason of my discomfort. And that's when I see him; Kaya's District Partner, Zander. He stares at me, two long blades in his hands, a look of absolute loathing deep in his eyes.

And then, almost in slow motion, he plunges one of the blades into a dummy's neck. I quickly look away, feeling more worried and apprehensive than ever before. _A warning. _That was a warning, wasn't it? A threat? Kaya mentioned how her District Partner was a bit rough around the edges, but he just seems more crazy than anything.

I should tell my allies—but I don't. I still don't know whether I should even be calling them _allies_. I still don't know whether I'm leaving or staying—and maybe I just don't want to know. The Games are almost here, and...and I'd like a small bit of peace before shit hits the fan.

As usual, I'm going to put it off. Maybe I'll leave the group later. Maybe I'll tell them about Zander later. It all depends on how I later feel, because what I'm feeling now can change in a heartbeat. That's how it is always is with me, and always will be.

"Okay, so we have everything covered!" Ula asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. I was so self-preoccupied, I didn't even realize they were still talking. "Kaya's going to go and mess with the swords, Caio's going to go train with those beloved spears of his, and I'm going to be all stereotypical and practice with the tridents. Breno's going to be our nerd and learn everything he can. Agreed?"

She gets a few chuckles out of that, but everyone agrees. We all split up—and just like Ula said, I head towards the spears. The two from Twelve and the boy from Ten are all standing near, talking and laughing—but I try to ignore them. I grab a spear from off the rack, testing its weight and all the other necessary things.

"Good to see you again," the Capitol trainer says, smiling at me. "With the Private Sessions starting soon, getting some last minute training in is a good idea. I'll be sure to sponsor the very best."

I chuckle, tossing the weapon from hand to hand. "Hopefully the very best will be me?"

"Hopefully."

I look away from the man; unlike my Escort, and every other bad thing I've heard about the Capitol people, the trainer here is actually very nice. And why would I be rude and nasty to someone who's not rude and nasty to me? He's not the one forcing me in an Arena. _But he is affiliated with the very same people that'll be cheering for my death. Is it okay for me to be so friendly?_

I shake that thought away, glancing at the alliance besides me once again, just in case they try and plan some attack on me or something. They just continue talking, though, so I look back at the target, my muscles tensing and my breaths coming out smooth. During the days that I've been able to train, I feel like I've strengthened my aim considerably. _But couldn't it be just a bit better?_

Using all my power, I throw the spear at the target. It soars through the air before stabbing itself in the target's wood, a loud _thump_ reverberating through the training center. Not a bullseye, unfortunately, but it's close enough to the center. _But is it really close enough? Shouldn't I try to be perfect?_

"Very good!" The trainer claps for me, offering a giant grin. "That District Twelve boy couldn't get that close to the target, no matter how hard he tried. So good on you for beating him!"

I stare at the trainer, a surge of emotions flowing through me. _Be thankful, or be rude. What should I do? What's the right thing to do?_

"...Whatever." I turn around and walk away, my brows furrowed. Did I do the right thing just then? From the look Kaya's giving me, maybe I did? But...

I close my eyes, taking deep breaths. I need to stop wondering, and just do. I need to stop hesitating, and just _do_. Even if it's not right, I just need to follow my instincts and go through with it. If I don't stop over-thinking things, I'll end up driving myself crazy.

_Besides... In the Games, nothing is right. _

_If I'm going to win, I'm going to have to be wrong._

* * *

**Toren Ingalls, 15;**

**District Nine Female.**

"I just don't know what else I'm supposed to do, Cerena," the District Ten girl says, flipping her blonde hair behind her shoulders. "Swinging around a weapon all day has lost it's charm. I hate to say it, but I'm almost ready for the Games to start!"

The Capitol trainer sighs, a chuckle escaping her old lips. "Well, have you paid the survival stations any attention?"

"Of course I have! I'm not stupid, you know." The girl sighs, the machete in her hands glinting dangerously in the light. "I've done just about everything. And ever since Ricky teamed up with the Twelves, he's been pretty distant. I don't know whether to feel happy that he's got himself an alliance or sad that he's not fawning over me anymore..."

I repress a laugh, stabbing my weapon into the dummy's neck. I've been training here with the machetes all day in the hopes that it'll make me a better killer, but I feel like I'm just as good as I was on day one. I mean, what do these people expect us to learn in two and a half days?

In the Arena, I'm probably going to forget most of what I learned and go by instinct anyway. I'm a very instinctual person—and if someone is coming towards me, and I have a weapon in my hands, I'm not going to think back on the proper stance.

I'm going to lash out. _And kill. Don't forget about the becoming a murderer thing. _

I let go of the machete, leaving the weapon hanging in the dummy's neck. The fact that I'll have to _kill_ people to come back home is...not a good one. Forcing the thought to the back of my mind, I glance at the District Ten girl still chatting it up with the trainer. Is she not worried at all about what we're being forced into?

"What about you, dear? Don't you feel like gaining allies would be a good strategic move on your part?"

"Hmm... I don't know. Nobody's requested to work with me. Well, except that District Seven guy—but I have a boyfriend, and just because I'm going in the Hunger Games doesn't mean I'm allowed to cheat on him." She pauses, before gigging. "No matter how cute these boys are..."

"My, how I miss being young and vibrant like you..."

"You should. It's the best."

They both share a laugh, and even I can't help but crack a smile. It's refreshing, seeing such nonchalance when the reminder of death is literally all around us. It'd be nice, I admit, to go through the Games with a friend like that. But neither Olivia nor Holden is here with me—and even though it'd be _so_ nice to have somebody to laugh and talk with, I don't want them to ever have to experience this.

I sigh, walking away from the station to the running track. Besides, I'm a pretty independent girl. It'll be hard...but if I have to, I'll just win the Games by myself. _Even though you're just a random fifteen-year-old girl? Why don't you get real, Toren?_

"Yes, dear? Is there anything you want?" The Capitol trainer in charge of this station is a tall, fit man. I stare at the obstacle course, wondering just why anyone would come here. It's not like there's going to be some deadly obstacle course in the Arena, right?

"I'd like to run through the course," I say to the man, disregarding my thoughts. Even if it won't help me much, what that District Ten girl was saying is true; slashing dummies to pieces has lost it's original charm.

Besides, I need to calm my frayed nerves. With the Games steadily approaching, the Training Center is shrouded in a thick fog of fear and apprehension. And being one of the only ones without an alliance, the odds of me dying have increased exponentially.

You could say the fear is driving me crazy.

"Alrighty then!" The Capitol man looks pretty ecstatic at my arrival now. He takes out a stopwatch, a giant smile on his face. "As you progress through the course, things will be getting much more difficult. Kind of like the Games. I'll be timing you—and when you finally finish, I'll let you compare your scores to the other tributes." His smile suddenly twitches. "Well, if there _were_ other scores..."

I giggle, nodding at his instructions. "It's okay. I'm sure the tributes next year will love this obstacle course."

"I hope so," he grumbles. "You're a pretty nice girl. Most tributes would probably just poke fun at me."

I smile. "Thank you. You're a pretty nice Capitolite."

With the compliments out of the way, I stare at the course once again, feeling something twisting in my stomach. Fear? Nervousness? Why am I nervous about a silly obstacle course? I just have to go with the flow. Just like always...

_Just like always. _The thought makes me think of District Nine, of my _mom_, and it takes everything in me not to fall to the ground and sob. Back home, you could say that I always went with the flow. Just like now, I never had any say in what happened to me.

My mom had me at a very young age, probably the same age I am now. My father, she said, thought that she was cheating on him and refused to acknowledge the fact that I was his baby. So, like the _responsible_ mother she is, she continued on with her teenage life and practically left me on the backburner. I don't want to say that I was neglected, but I probably _would_ have been if not for my grandparents.

That's not the bad part, though. As I grew older, my mom and I moved from home to home. She acquired a new boyfriend at almost a weekly rate, and we'd end up staying at his house for a few days before the messy breakup occurred and we'd be kicked out on the streets. But not for long, because my mom would soon after get _another_ boyfriend and the cycle would continue. My childhood was basically spent wishing my mother could just settle down with one guy so I wouldn't have to continue moving.

And with moving on an almost weekly basis, that meant I had to forget about a lot of friends, too. District Nine is bigger than most people think, and going to the very left side of the district from the very right side of the district is like a different world. The only friend I managed to keep in touch with is Olivia. My mom managed to date and break up with her dad, too.

All I wanted was a bit of stability in my life. But now that I'm going to be in the Hunger Games, that dream might as well combust into flames right now.

"Ready when you are," the man says, his hand over the stopwatch. I tense my muscles, getting ready to charge into a run. I don't know why, but I suddenly want to do very good. It'll take my mind off of District Nine for me to fully focus my attention on this.

Before I can charge, though, someone taps on my shoulder. I turn around, confused and slightly worried. Who is this person tapping me? Tributes aren't supposed to hurt each other yet, right?

But my worries are all for naught when I recognize who it is. The District Ten girl with her messy blond curls. What does she want with me?

"Let's form an alliance!" She exclaims—and it takes me about ten seconds to fully comprehend her words. _What?_ "That was a bit blunt, I know... But yeah, the trainer back there told me everyone who didn't yet have an alliance, and you looked like the coolest one, so..."

"Wait, wait, wait. You want to ally with _me?_" I can't help but take a step back, totally overwhelmed by her offer. Not only was it so sudden...but why does this eighteen-year-old beauty want to ally with someone like me? I'm not a self-deprecating person at all, but isn't it pretty suspicious? "Why?"

"I just told you why, silly. You seem cool, and we sorta have the same hairstyle." She chuckles, patting me on my head. "You're really short, though. You think the Capitol can give you height surgery or something?"

I knock her hand away, a nervous laugh coming out of my throat. How am I supposed to respond to this? This girl is crazy, to say the least, and what if she's hiding something? And I don't even know her _name!_

"Uh, we don't even know each other..."

The girl blinks, before a sheepish smile shows on her face. "You're right. My name's London Tienna, District Ten. I've been Reaped for the Hunger Games, but I'm planning on making the most of my time here. I'm eighteen-years-old, and I just have the _cutest_ boyfriend back home. What about you? Any boys I need to know about?"

Right. She _is_ crazy. But it's endearing, and really refreshing considering we're only two days away from gore and death. Maybe I _will_ ally with London? She certainly doesn't seem like the type to stab me in my sleep or something.

"My name is Toren Ingall, from District Nine. I'm fifteen-years-old, and...I've also been Reaped for the Hunger Games? If that wasn't obvious enough." I laugh, and she has the good will to laugh back. "Uh, I don't have a boyfriend, but I have this friend named Holden and he's pretty nice."

And just like that, I'm already warming up to London. She's nice, and jolly, and everything a person normally isn't in this kind of situation. She may be a bit blunt and rough around the edges, but I'm glad that I can make at least one ally before the Games start.

I'm glad that I can make at least one friend.

My mom may have influenced my entire life, but this is one thing she can't mess up. Unlike all the other times, _I'm_ going to be in charge of my future.

I'm going to win the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Author's Notes: I wrote this chapter extremely fast, considering I wrote the first two POVs on the drive to and from Panama City Beach, and the last POV in just a few hours. I'm not too sure how I feel on his chapter (the characters were pretty difficult to fully grasp), but hopefully you all still enjoy it! ^_^**

**And yeah, I should also thank you all again for reviewing. Keep it up! The more you review, the happier I get, and the more I want to write the next chapter xD So yeah, keep those reviews coming!**

* * *

**All alliances, once again, will be posted on the blog. Check it out, eh?**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why? **_

_**It's the third day of training! You walk into your Private Session, ready to show the Gamemakers all that you've learned—but all of them are drunk and paying you absolutely no attention! You keep calling out to them, but they're ignoring you, and time is almost up. What do you do?**_

_**And also, which tribute do you think will get the highest score? Which tribute do you think will get the lowest?**_

* * *

**Well, that's it for this chapter! The next chapter will include both the Private Sessions and the Training Scores! Are you excited? I'm excited! Don't forget to review and answer the personal questions! Also, giving me a little insight on my writing would be really nice!**

**Bai!**


	13. Private Sessions and Training Scores

**Private Sessions / Training Scores.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Echo Woods, 17;**

**District Two Female.**

I think that I just might hate everyone here.

As I sit here, waiting for that old Gamemaker to start calling us in, I tap my finger against my leg to keep calm. Not out of nervousness—I'm going to get the highest training score, that's pretty obvious—but out of anger. After training for a few measly hours, Vincio ordered us outside of the Training Room and forced us to sit down in these uncomfortable chairs. We're supposed to sit in order of district. So while I'm stuck with the two blondes, Terrance is sitting a few seats behind us.

That's not why I'm angry, though. The District Three brat won't stop tapping her feet on the ground, and it's really annoying me. I've tried giving her the benefit of the doubt—y'know, considering she'll be dead soon—but I just can't take it anymore. How am I supposed to mentally prepare myself with her making so much noise?

"Can you _stop?_" I demand, my voice cutting through the silence and stabbing the little girl right through her head. The room was pretty much silent, except for Kostos and Adeline whispering here and there, but with my outburst a thick fog has seemed to envelop the area. All eyes are on me.

The District Three girl freezes, before slowly craning her head to look at me. "A-Are you t-talking to me..?"

"Obviously." I glare, my arms crossed. "Stop tapping your foot, or I'll make it the first thing I cut off in the Arena." My words seem to do the trick; quickly nodding and stuttering out an apology, the small girl turns away from me and doesn't move a muscle. Finally. The other tributes are still looking at me, most of them looking in fear, but I couldn't care less about that.

I really think that I hate all twenty-three tributes here, even the ones I haven't had the misfortune of meeting yet. My allies are slowly driving me to the brink of insanity, I can't harm that stuck-up Vesper yet, and the other tributes are just plain annoying and spineless. Besides, hating them makes this entire process easier.

For me to go home, that is.

Because I'm most definitely going back home. There's no doubt in my mind.

"You're so mean, Echo," Kostos says, snickering. I ignore him, staring straight ahead. I'm not going to let him bother me today. If I mess up my private session because of him, I'm going to make sure that he's the _first_ one on my kill-list.

When he realizes that I'm not going to respond, he just shrugs, that content grin on his pale face. Turning around, he starts whispering to Adeline once again. "Have I ever told you how pretty you look in that training suit?"

The District One girl giggles, hiding her blush behind her hands. "Uh, yeah. You told me yesterday, and the day before that."

"Well, I guess I'm saying it again?"

Kostos and Adeline continue chatting, completely oblivious to the other tributes watching and listening. Honestly, they're both such _idiots_. Adeline couldn't manage a legitimate weapon to save her life—which will be shown to the world soon enough, I assure you. And Kostos, happy-go-lucky Kostos, wouldn't know seriousness if it stabbed him straight through the heart. He's always so nonchalant about everything, as if this is some sort of school trip and his victory is assured.

I almost bark out a laugh at that. As if! _Sorry, Kostos, but I'm the one going back can accompany me in a pine box, though._

District Two was home, yeah, but it wasn't much. Besides Reyna, there's no-one in particular that really drives me to bring home the gold. Too many homophobic fucks worried about other people's business rather than their own. I haven't even spoken to my parents in years; after moving out, I cut off all forms of association with them. They didn't give a fuck about me after hearing about me being a lesbian, so why should I care about them?

They didn't even come say goodbye after the Reapings...

But it's not like I cared. Because I truly, honestly don't. All I need is Reyna. After I win these Games, we're going to live happily-ever-after, and nobody's going to mess with us again. _So I can't die. I won't die. There's no possible way that I'm going to die._

Suddenly, the intercom sparks on, thankfully bringing me out of my thoughts. If I think too much, I'll start to doubt myself and my decisions, and that's something I can't afford. Not here. Not ever.

"Vesper Quinn, please walk through the double-doors and into the Training Room." A lady with a robotic voice starts speaking, the lack of a Capitol accent extremely noticeable. "I repeat: Vesper Quinn, please walk through the doors and into the Training Room."

I shift in my seat, willing away the annoying nerves. _It's finally starting. Time to prove myself to the Capitol, to all of Panem. _

The boy from District One rises from his seat, casting a dirty glance at me before walking away. I scowl at his back, clenching and unclenching my fists to keep calm. I _hate_ Vesper. And more-than-likely, I'm going to kill him. I just can't stand his superior attitude, like nobody here is good enough to work with him.

I tried to be a little bit polite. Honestly, I did. When I walked up to the pair from One, I tried to make it clear that I'd at least _try_ to work with them. Kostos obviously wouldn't have shut up about it if I didn't at least introduce myself. So I did. And what happens next? Mr. Quinn gives me the worst attitude, declining my invitation like he has _any_ chance of winning without me.

I'm going to kill him in the Arena. For now, he can walk around like his shit doesn't stink. But when that gong rings, he's the absolute first person I'm going for.

As Vesper walks into the room and starts his session, I notice the anxious behaviors of all the tributes around me. Adeline bites her lip, trying to smile at Kostos as he continues to talk and talk. The District Three girl I snapped at is looking to the floor, playing with her fingers. Hell, even Terrance has an expression on his face that's more serious than he usually is. And if there's anyone in this room I respect the most, it's him.

_Well, I can't be like them. _I sit up straighter, tapping my thigh more and more. _I'm different than them. They're nothing but small hurdles for me to jump over. Cockroaches for me to step on. Rebels for me to execute. _

That's it, they're rebels. I may be a tribute right now, but I'm a Peacekeeper at heart. And the number one rule that we're supposed to learn before we even _think_ of joining is that all rebels must be eliminated. Maybe that's why I'm here. Maybe that's why someone like me was Reaped. To eliminate these spineless rebels.

I don't particularly want to be here, but I'm loyal to the Capitol. And if they need me to kill a couple of kids to prove my worth to them, then I'll do it. A thousand times over.

Minutes pass, and Vesper Quinn walks out of the Training Room, looking as pissed as ever. He doesn't even acknowledge me before he stomps his way over to the elevator, jams his number in, and waits for the machine to whisk him away. I almost snort. He must've did poorly. His death will be easier than I thought it'd be.

"Adeline Callard, please walk through the double-doors into the Training Room. I repeat: Adeline Callard, please walk through the doors into the Training Room."

The District One girl gets up, smoothing the invisible wrinkles in her suit. Before she walks away, she turns and gives both Kostos and I a smile. I ignore the gesture, looking straight ahead, while Kostos grins right back and gives her a thumbs-up. It's pointless, though. Adeline is going to score low—lower than low—and she's going to die. It's amazing how easily I can tell the future.

She walks into the room, and comes back out minutes later. Her face is flushed, and it's obvious she's trying to hold in her panting. Whatever she did in there, she obviously tried hard. _But not hard enough. _I can tell from the way she's frowning that she messed up with something, or didn't do as good as she wanted. But what can she expect? She's only in this alliance because the Capitol people are surprisingly shallow and will sponsor just about anyone with wonderful blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. She's only with us to flutter her eyelashes and look pretty.

...And hardly does she do too much of a good job with that.

"Kostos Sylett, please walk through the double-doors into the Training Room. I repeat: Kostos Sylett, please walk through the doors into the Training Room."

"Well, I can't refuse a request from such a wonderfully-sounding lady." My District Partner grins, standing up from his seat. "The emotion you exhibit is almost overwhelming." I roll my eyes, watching as he walks through the doors into the large room. He's such an idiot. More and more, I find myself wishing that the Games would hurry up and start, so that I won't have to deal with his stupidity anymore.

_You're next. _The thought suddenly hits me, like a bag of bricks being swung upon my head. For a moment, I'm wondering whether I should have practiced more, or whether I should have learned how to use a new weapon as well. But then, that thought is gone, thrown away as to never be seen again. _I'm ready. I'm more ready than anyone in this entire room. I'm the most prepared girl here. _

I'm going to get the highest score. I'm going to make the Capitol understand that I can be their Victor, that I'm the _only_ one that can be their Victor.

Kostos suddenly walks out, his hands in his pocket and a content smirk on his face. I don't even make eye-contact; before the robotic lady can even call my name, I shoot up from my seat and walk right past my District Partner.

This is only the first step. I'm going to win the Hunger Games. And then, the Capitol will know. District Two will know. The _world_ will know.

* * *

**Tet Kender, 13;**

**District Three Male. **

Echo Woods walks inside of the Training Room, and it's almost like the tense air dissipates.

With her gone, and the other tributes from One and Two gone, there's a sort of relaxed feeling floating around. _It's because they're the real killers,_ I think, something I realized quite a while ago when I noticed the wary looks the other tributes would give them. _I'll need to stay away from them._

The way Echo snapped at Iris earlier just proves my point; she's bad news, and will most likely be the first person to start the bloodshed.

I always wondered how the Hunger Games really worked. They were intimidating, but I was intrigued. Granted, I never had the time to watch one—but there was one question that I always had, a question that nobody in District Three ever wanted to answer for me. How can normal teenagers just be so quick to murder each other? And why? If we were to just choose not to fight, what would the Capitol be able to do?

I wanted to ask Daniel earlier, but I...didn't want him to think bad of me. Maybe it's dumb, and maybe I'll regret it, but I've grown really attached to my older ally. He's kind, and doesn't treat me like I'm incapable. He's even been teaching me things, like how to successfully attack someone with a blade should I get in that situation. I've grown to like him more than I've grown to like anyone back in my entire district; Daniel Church is like the older brother I've never had.

There were older boys in the orphanage I grew up in, but none of them ever piqued my interest like Daniel has. And even when I _did_ find someone who seemed smart enough, I would greet them, but they would just greet me back and nothing else. I was irrelevant. I was just the small, quiet boy who stayed in the corner rather than vociferate my opinions.

I was lonely, I'll admit it. Painfully lonely. Instead of making friends, I chose to _create_ friends. I found discarded scrap metal all throughout my district, and even more unwanted parts just thrown to the side. When I got back to the orphanage each night after a hunt for parts, I would work tirelessly, day and night. And finally, _finally_, I created him—a small robot by the name of Hex, who would even talk to me and cheer me up when I was feeling especially lonely.

In all of District Three, it was a robot that cared for me. More than anybody else.

Now that I'm here in the Capitol, I thought that Iris was the only person who'd try to befriend me. I thought that, while I'm going to probably die, at least I had just one girl in the world who cared for me. But no, then came Daniel and Calla, who have been the most colorful people I've ever encountered. I care for each and every one of my allies, probably more than I should.

If there's one good thing about the Hunger Games, it's the fact that I met sweet Iris, charming Daniel, and funny Calla. _There's no way these Games will be successful. We would never kill each other, and Daniel would never let anyone harm us. _

"Tet," Iris whispers, gently pushing my arm. I glance at her, broken right out of my thoughts. "They called you... It's time for your private session."

_Oh_. I nod, standing up from my seat. I didn't even realize that Echo was finished, nor did I hear the announcement. Taking a breath of fresh air, I walk to the doors, not even acknowledging the two Peacekeepers guarding the place. Why call them _Peace_keepers when all I ever see them do is harassing people? Another thing about Panem I just can't bring myself to understand.

I walk through the doors—and automatically, they close behind me. I could make the reaction time two times faster if I was allowed to. I could do so much for the Capitol, so much for Panem in general. They can't... I mean, how can they just throw random kids in the Arena? Don't they know how much we can better the society?

_This just doesn't make any sense. _

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kender," says the lone Gamemaker, sitting on the second floor and watching me from over the ledge. He's an old man, a _really_ old man, and the look in his eyes aren't as happy as I thought it'd be. I mean, don't they _like_ this kind of stuff? "You have five minutes to show me everything you've learned over the past three days. Afterwards, I'll determine your training score, which will be shown live to all of Panem. Training scores directly influence sponsors, young man, so please try your hardest to get the highest score available. Is there any question you'd like to ask before you begin?"

Definitely not happy, I can tell that much by the sound of his voice. But why? I don't normally understand people in general, but these Capitol people are the most mysterious to me. Why do they like the Hunger Games? And why does the Head Gamemaker sound so depressed?

I look around the Training Room, noticing how large and pristine it looks without the other tributes present. These people work so hard to give us the best resources. Why are they killing us if they presumably care so much? Why?

I have so many questions—and right now, I'm going to ask all of them. More than the want of getting a competent training score, I want to _know_. If I can just understand these people, then maybe my probable death won't leave such a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Why were the Hunger Games invented?" I ask him, focusing on his face. Reading people has never been a specialty of mine, but Daniel has been trying to teach me that skill. He'd be disappointed in me if I didn't even _try_.

"Oh?" He shifts uncomfortably. Is he planning on lying to me? "Being from District Three, I assumed you of all people would know, Mr. Kender."

I do know, at least I know what I've been told by the teachers back home. The Mayor practically re-informs us every single year with the Treaty of Treason. But I'd like to know what this man says about it. I'd like to know his opinion, his reasoning—_everything_.

For the first time in my life, I'm able to get the answers I've been craving. I'm not going to waste this opportunity.

"But it's only fair that you understand exactly why you're here," he says, his face intentionally closed off. "The Capitol fed the districts, loved the districts, protected the districts. We did everything for you all...and then all of a sudden, your people initiated a war. We didn't _want_ to fight, but you all forced us. And we won." He exhales, rubbing his temples. "So in punishment for your treason, the Hunger Games were set into action. This is a very simplified version, of course."

"But do you agree with the Hunger Games? Do you enjoy watching us kill each other?"

His eyes suddenly turn sharp, like a fire igniting from the inside. "Mr. Kender, you are not here to ask me pointless questions. I'm going to start the timer now, and you'll have to leave when your time is up, regardless of if you've done anything. And I assure you, nobody is going to sponsor somebody with a _1_."

I tilt my head, not exactly caring about my score anymore. If he was like any other Capitolite, he'd have answered with something along the lines of "of course I enjoy the Games!" But no, he avoided my question. Is there something I'm missing? Something I should be catching on to?

"You can start the timer," I respond, and he nods. "But why are training scores so important? If the Hunger Games are a punishment, why would the Capitol be sending the tributes supplies based on a simple number?"

"_Mr. Kender_," he starts, but I cut him off.

"What's the point of all of this anyway? Chariot rides, training days, interviews..." I gulp, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Why don't you just kill us already? Why are you making everything seem so nice? Why are you giving us the false illusion that training for three days will help us win? You're making the Capitol seem so benevolent, when at the end of the day it's _you guys_ who're forcing us to kill each other."

I should probably stop now. I've said too much, and the tendrils of dread are trying so hard to overcome my spirit. I doubted the Games since day one. I was afraid, but I was doubtful they'd really happen. Kids killing kids... It just seems too evil to be true. But now that I'm talking, now that I'm talking more than I've ever talked in my four days in the Capitol, I can't help but think of the possible outcomes. I could _die_. Iris, Daniel, Calla... We could all _die_.

"What are you going to do," I begin, almost whispering, "if we choose not to fight? What are you going to do then?"

I don't want to hear the answer, because all of the false hope and naivety I've gathered over the past few days would just shatter if he says what I think he'll say. Because I know what _I'd_ do if twenty-four kids were stuck in an Arena and chose not to fight. It must be called the _Hunger_ Games for a reason...

I stare at him, and I'm not even half-surprised when I see a single tear slide down his face. I knew it. He doesn't agree with the Games. But that answer just brings more questions. Why do this if he doesn't want to?

"Tet Kender, your time is up."

It's not. While I was talking, I've been counting down the seconds in the back of my mind. I still have over two minutes left. _But what does it matter? _I turn around, disappointed, getting ready to leave. But for some reason, a foreign feeling flows through my body—and instead of walking out the doors, I head over to the knives. The Gamemaker's eyes follow me the entire way.

"Wouldn't want to get a _1_ for not doing anything," I mumble to myself, picking up a random knife and stabbing the clinically white dummy in the head. Fake blood in the form of cotton flows out of it's wound, but I'm not stunned nor surprised.

I turn around, looking the elderly Gamemaker straight in the eye. He doesn't smile, or nod, or do anything. He just stares at me—and then, slowly, he starts tapping on the electronic device in his hands.

"Thank you, Mr. Kender. You may now leave."

This time, I really do turn around to walk out. Once again, I look for answers, but I'm unfortunately turned down. Before I can take my first step outside the door, though, his soft voice carries over to my ears yet again.

"Ask your Escort if you can watch the First Hunger Games. I'm sure there are multiple copies in your room." He coughs. "Maybe after watching it, you'll have less questions than when you came here."

I don't turn around. Instead, a small smile creeps on my face as I continue walking out. Daniel gives me a thumbs-up as I walk past, but I don't care about that. Not right now. Finally, I'm going to get the answers I yearn for.

And maybe even the answers I'll be better off not knowing.

* * *

**Koda Samuels, 12;**

**District Eleven Male.**

"Is it almost time..?"

"I don't know. Just wait a little longer and you'll see."

...

"What about now? I feel like a good few minutes have passed since I last asked you."

"Koda, it's been twenty seconds. Just _wait_."

...

I groan, dramatically slamming my face in a nearby pillow. Meeko and I are sitting on the couch, waiting for the TV to turn itself on and announce our scores. Unfortunately, though, it seems to be taking the man longer than I thought. It's already dark outside, so why have we not seen them yet?!

A horrible thought suddenly enters my brain. "Ms. Priscilla, what if we missed them?"

My Escort drops her magazine and lets it fall to the table, the expression on her face a little intimidating. Uh-oh. She's getting angry again, I can tell—and nobody likes an angry Priscilla. I just can't help it, though! All I want is to know what that old man gave me as a training score! I swear, it's taking them so _long_. I just can't stand it!

"Koda, I am going to ask you one last time," my Escort says, her voice so low that she's almost whispering. "Shut up. Just zip your mouth and don't open it until I tell you to. If you continue to disobey me, I refuse to help you in the Arena."

I frown, looking away from the Capitol lady and to the floor. Can she even do that? Helping me is Priscilla's _job_, and everyone in District Eleven had to complete their jobs without fail or they'd be whipped. Maybe even killed! Do the same things apply in the Capitol? As much as Priscilla yells at me, I don't want her to get killed.

Just the thought is enough to send gruesome images through my brain. The Hunger Games are in two days, and I am _definitely_ not ready. Usually I'm ready to do anything and everything, practically bouncing on my heels to get started. But this is different. Meeko and I could _die_.

_Shouldn't have been so impulsive. If you hadn't volunteered for Stag, then you wouldn't be here right now. _But I _had_ to volunteer for him. The Games are terrifying, but the only thing worse than being Reaped is having one of my loved ones being Reaped. Kovu, Cricket... I don't know what I'd do without them. And when I saw Stag standing on that stage, it's like my legs had moved on their own, my mouth sounding out words by itself.

I don't regret volunteering for Stag. He's the big brother I've never had the fortune of having. Ever since my mom was put in jail and I had to be sent to the orphanage, the only person I could even call apart of my family was Stag. So, no, I don't regret my choice. In Eleven, he's safe. He'll never have to deal with the Hunger Games ever again. He can be with his family for as long as he wants...

Blinking back tears, I continue staring at the floor. Even though I'm scared to death, I don't regret my choice of being here. The thing I regret is having to be here with Meeko, knowing only one of us can truly win. I regret the fact that I...I have to _die_. I don't want to die. I don't want Meeko to die. I don't want _anyone_ to die.

"Why do we have to fight?" I ask, my voice cracking. "What did we do to deserve this?"

For a good moment, it's completely silent on our floor. The urge to start talking almost overpowers me, but the big hands of depression hold it down. Meeko suddenly places a hand on my leg, gently rubbing, just like she always did back in Eleven. I don't know how she does it, but my District Partner doesn't even have to talk and I'm completely reassured. The future may be a bit rocky, but...we'll get through. We _have_ to.

Sitting over at the dining table, Priscilla just stares at me, her eyes widened. For the first time in forever, she doesn't look like she's mad at me. She looks almost...sad? "Koda, you—"

"And welcome, citizens of the Capitol, citizens of the Districts!" The television abruptly flashes on, cutting my Escort off. Aeliana Devrine—Capitol _superstar_—flashes the camera one of her pearly white smiles. Her yellow hair isn't hanging to the side like during the Reaping Recaps, but it's as big and vibrant as ever. "Whatever you're doing right now, I advise you to stop. You're definitely not going to want to miss this!"

I wipe my eyes, focusing all of my attention on the screen. For the first time in forever, I'm not moving a muscle. Just staring. _The scores! They're finally here!_

After the mandatory Capitol Anthem, the screen cuts back to Aeliana. She's sitting in a completely black room, stacks of papers in her hands. _She's_ the one that's going to read out our scores. Priscilla told us that these scores will have a major effect on how everyone sees us, and whether or not we're good enough for people to bother sponsoring us.

I gulp, suddenly not wishing for them to come so soon. What if I didn't do well? What'll happen to me then?

"As you all know, the tributes are rated on a scale of _1_ to _12_ after three days of careful evaluation," the Capitol lady says, still wearing a perfectly placed smile. "Head Gamemaker Antonius Lavel would like to once again thank every single tribute for their participation. Without you guys, this whole thing couldn't be possible. Way to go!"

Meeko gives me a look. From years and years of living in the orphanage with her, this is all she needs to do to get her feelings across. _Really?_ is what she's thinking. I manage a small grin, shaking my head. These Capitol people do so much to us, yet there's times like this when they want to act friendly and grateful. They're just so confusing.

"With the introductions out of the way, let's begin." Aeliana looks down to the sheet of papers in her hands—and behind her, the mean-looking District One boy just materializes out of thin air! It's not even a picture; he's just standing there, yeah, but every once in a while he'll sigh and cross his arms.

"How do they do that?" I ask my Escort, even though I know she hates for me to ask stuff. Instead of yelling at me, though, she actually opens her mouth to answer.

"The Training Center has cameras everywhere, even in here," she says, shrugging. "Doesn't take much to put video footage in the background. When I was in school, I actually used to want to be a video editor."

"Oh." I stare at the screen, suddenly really excited again. That means they'll have video footage of me, too!

"From District One, Vesper Quinn with a score of..." She blinks. "A score of _2_?"

Once again, there's silence in the room. Isn't that...a very low score? But he's eighteen-years-old, and mean! How does someone like him get a score like that? He'd have either had to do really bad or just barely anything at all...

Aeliana quickly gets over her confusion, though, and continues. Behind her, Vesper morphs into the nice-looking District One girl. "From District One, Adeline Callard with a score of _5_."

Now _that's_ a good score, or at least good enough for me. If I got a _5_, I'd be happy. District Eleven rarely does well with these scores, though, so...

Adeline morphs into the District Two boy. He's grinning, but occasionally he'll just frown. That's...kinda weird. "From District Two, Kostos Sylett with a score of _10_!"

Really? A _10_?! Wow, I expected good scores from the ones from Two, but I don't think a tribute has ever gotten a _10_ before. Even the Victor from last year got a _9_, I think. And considering I'm going to be stuck in the Arena with this guy...

"From District Two, Echo Woods with a score of _9_."

"The scores from Two are higher than usual," Priscilla comments, eyes sharp. "I think it's pretty obvious, but stay away from them in the Arena. Tributes don't just randomly get high scores, no matter what district they're from..."

I nod, my face a bit hot for some reason. They're dangerous—because they can kill me. Because they can kill Meeko. I don't want that to happen. I _really_ don't want that to happen.

"From District Three, Tet Kender with a score of _5_."

Tet got a _5_, and he's only one year older than me. What does that mean? Should I be wary, or should I be happy because high scores suddenly aren't so hard to get? Meeko's just staring, and even Priscilla looks a bit confused. I don't know...

"From District Three, Iris Logan with a score of _3_."

She's the same age as me, and she got a _3_. I don't... I don't know what to think. I tried my hardest to hit as many targets as possible with my slingshot. Shouldn't that count for something? I just... I just want a good score, so that Stag and even my mom won't have to worry about me dying.

"From District Four, Caio Artelle with a score of _5_."

I remember seeing him in training, always looking behind his back suspiciously. I thought he'd get higher, but maybe it really _is_ hard to get a good score. I don't know anymore. I want to stay optimistic, but it's so hard.

"From District Four, Ula Dylan with a score of _6_."

She's the one who volunteered for her little sister, just like how I volunteered for my big brother. She really does look capable enough to get a 6, but she's eighteen so that's kind of expected? I'm just twelve. I can get a _5_, I _can_.

"From District Five, Michael Riverbee with a score of _3_."

O-Or maybe a _4_ is a good enough score. That's all I want. A _4_. Michael is older than me, but he got a _3_? Maybe he just...didn't try hard enough. Yeah, that's it. He just didn't try. I can get a _4_. That's all I'm aiming for.

"From District Five, Alexandra Fearn with a score of _4_."

This girl doesn't have an alliance, does she? I don't think so. I originally thought that getting more allies would be a good idea, but Meeko was strangely against it. So because of that, it's just us two—and honestly, I'm perfectly fine with that! I feel that I can be myself around Meeko, that I don't have to stop or calm down like how I have to do with Priscilla and every other adult I've come to know. When Meeko's around, I feel safe.

"From District Six, Breno Harmont with a score of _4_."

I saw this guy reading about survival and the like more than train with any weapons. I guess a _4_ is understandable, but what about me? I trained a lot. I trained my butt off! I should get a good score, right?

"From District Six, Ceres Cantrell with a score of _4_."

She's also a bit older than me—but unlike her ally, she got a _4_. I feel like I can beat her in a fight, right? I mean, I don't want to ever have to fight...but if I _had_ to...

"From District Seven, Daniel Church with a score of _7_."

My eyes widen at this, while Priscilla just nods to herself. I mean, I knew this guy volunteered and all, but I didn't think he'd get _that_ high! Maybe Meeko was right in declining his alliance invitation; what if he randomly attacked us? What would we do?

"From District Seven, Calla Mallow with a score of _5_."

And his red-headed District Partner earns a _5_—which is great, but not as great as her ally. Still, their alliance has been pretty strong. They may be one of the powerhouses of the Games, or whatever I heard Priscilla say about some of the tributes.

"From District Eight, Zander Engres with a score of _6_."

Woah, a _6_! How did he get something like that? I seldom saw him during training, so I barely know what to expect from this guy! _Just stay away, _my brain tells me. But if I end up getting that _4_...

"From District Eight, Kaya Vause with a score of _8_."

Priscilla gasps at this score, loudly. Even Meeko shifts uncomfortably in her seat. I just stare at the red-headed girl, not believing my eyes. How can she get a score like _that?_ Those scores are for District Two; never have they been for Outer-Districts like _us_.

Maybe... Maybe I do have a chance?

"From District Nine, Terrance Vallier with a score of _7_."

The more these scores go on, the higher they seem to get getting. And it's making me happy! Terrance joined the Pack from District One and Two, so a _7_ seems appropriate—but he doesn't look intimidating or strong at all! I can seriously get a good score!

"From District Nine, Toren Ingalls with a score of _5_."

She joined up with the District Ten girl yesterday; I saw the entire thing. It was a bit funny, actually, and reminded me of how I was with people back in District Eleven. When I go back home, I'll tell them all about it. _If you go back home. _

"From District Ten, Ricky Laris with a score of _4_."

A _4_. Ricky got a _4_, and he's eighteen-years-old. He's way older than me. Should I be... Should I be worried? If he got a _4_, then what would I get?

"From District Ten, London Tienna with a score of _6_."

I don't even register London's high score. As I stare at her blinding grin, the only thing I can think about is how I'm next. I'm _next_. I'm going to get my score, just like how I earlier wanted. But now... I don't know, I'm just _scared_. I worked so hard. If I don't get a high score, what'll I do? In the Arena, they'll eat me alive...

"From District Eleven, Koda Samuels with a score of _3_."

_...No_. The silence is almost deafening. I've gotten in trouble a lot, but this feels worse. I haven't just made people angry, but I've _disappointed_ them. A _3_. All I wanted was a _4_. Why could I have gotten a _4_?

Meeko places a hand on my shoulder—but for the first time, I shrug her hand away. I feel like crying. I feel like getting up, running away, and just flat-out crying. Because I'm going to die. I volunteered, and now I'm going to die.

"From District Eleven, Meeko Brighton with a score of _4_."

"You got a _4_," I say, trying and failing to smile. "Good job, Meeko. You deserve it..." To be completely honest, I'm jealous. I wanted that score. I wanted it so bad. I worked so hard to get a good score. So why didn't I? Why does it feel like I was just..._cheated?_

"From District Twelve, Eion Daltier with a score of _5_."

Priscilla says something, but I tune her out, focusing on the floor once again. That stupid old man gave me a _3_. And because of him, Stag probably has no hope for me. In prison, my mom probably has no hope for me. The entirety of District Eleven has no hope for me! I'm _dead_. Dead, dead, dead.

"From District Twelve, Isabel Abriani with a score of _4_."

"Ms. Priscilla," I mumble, looking up at my Escort. She stops mid-sentence, almost scowling at me for interrupting her—but then she sees the tears streaming down my face, and she bites her lips.

"Koda... What is it?"

"What does it feel like to die?"

* * *

**Author's Notes: Am I proud of this chapter? No. I hate this chapter so much, you have absolutely no idea xD **

**But yeah, I seriously don't have the time to try and fix it. Exams coming up, my grades are sucky, and I really need to start studying. Not to mention the other homework I have to do. So yeah, life is really tense for me right now. It took everything in me to update tonight, okay? SO PLEASE BE CONSIDERATE WHEN YOU REVIEW HOW OBVIOUSLY RUSHED THIS WAS!**

**Yeah, anyway. I'm going to be adding training scores to the blog as soon as I can. As for the scores, a LOT of factors were involved when thinking of them. You may be able to think of a few, but yeah, they won't be revealed until later. If your tribute didn't get the score you wanted them to get, though, just pm me and I'll explain just why they got that score. Not changing my decision, but yeah.**

**(Wow, I sound like a dick. But exhaustion can do that to me xD)**

**Yeah, I think that's all I have to say about this horrible chapter? Please review, because I seemed to get less than usual last chapter? You've heard this a thousand and one times, but when you review, I get the energy to write. So yeah, I'd love it if you reviewed. Especially if your tribute had a POV this chap.**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why? **_

_**You worked extra hard to get a good Training Score. Really, really hard. When you walk out of the room, you're panting hard and sweating bullets. You tried your absolute best. Later that day, the scores are announced. You get a big fat 1! How do you react? What do you do?**_

_**And what are you thoughts on the Training Scores? And standout ones?**_

* * *

**Once again, please review! **

**See you next time with Interview Prep! ^_^**

**Bai!**


	14. Interview Prep

**Interview Prep.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Adeline Callard, 18;**

**District One Female.**

"Okay, so here's how things are going to go." Jewell places her utensils to the table, wiping her mouth with a nearby towel. So elegant. So beautiful. _Why can't I be like her? _"Tonight are the Interviews, as you all know. You'll be showcasing yourself to the Capitol, making them love you, making them want to _sponsor_ you. Obviously we can't have the two of you going onstage without any proper training, so Aquila and I are going to separately work with the both of you and basically make sure you know exactly what to say, how to say it, and what image you'll want the Capitol to associate you with. This should take about eight hours, so get ready for some intense training."

"I will be taking Vesper," Aquila chimes, sending my District Partner a wink. "I promise, you'll be the _perfect_ gentleman by the time I'm done with you."

Vesper looks disgusted—but surprisingly, he doesn't say anything. And I think I know why. Tomorrow, we'll be in the Arena. Tomorrow, people are going to die. Tomorrow, _we_ could die. He acts like he doesn't care, but stress and anxiety affects people in many different ways.

_Just like how it's affecting me. _The only thoughts I've been able to have while I try to sleep at night are bad ones. After seeing my training score yesterday, a blood red _5_, it's cemented the fact that I'll never be good enough. My entire alliance got higher than me. Even Vesper with his _2_; he'sobviously _leagues_ above me when it comes to fighting and the like.

_I want to be like them. Vesper, Jewell, Kostos, Echo, Terrance—why can't I be strong like them? It's not fair. It's not fair._

"After we're done teaching you all the tricks and tips to handling Aeliana, your stylists will then clean and dress you up." Jewell's friendly gaze quickly turns serious. "Careful. During the Chariots, you two had the obvious advantage. But now, the other tributes are getting dolled up to look just as good. Don't get cocky."

I smile. "Of course." _Someone like me shouldn't get cocky in the first place._

I shake off the thought, chewing on a piece of bacon. I don't usually get like this—not around other people, at least. With people, I can forget about my insecurities and just try to be my cheerful self. It's when I'm alone that I can't stop doubting myself, comparing myself to everyone and realizing just how inferior I truly am.

But the Games are close. It's impossible not to let my thoughts wander when everyone around me will be fighting and killing come next morning.

I steal a glance at Aquila, who's happily whistling a tune to herself. Every once in a while, she'll look at Vesper, and then start giggling. Why doesn't she ever pay attention to me? Am I not worth her attention? What's so special about Vesper?!

For a second, there's the rage, threatening to eat me alive. Jealousy is a hard thing to control, but I've been living with it for almost my entire life. Almost as soon as I feel it, I push the anger back down, disgusted with myself. What's _wrong_ with me?

Minutes later, Jewell finishes her breakfast and stands up from her seat. "Well, it's about time we start. There's a private room downstairs, just for us. Adeline, let's go."

I stand, nodding, the smile on my face feeling more and more forced with every second. "Yes ma'am." It's not that I'm nervous about being onstage tonight. Honestly, I'm excited! I want everyone to love me, to want me to win. I want to go onstage and be the teenage girl I am, laughing and flinging my hair.

I just want them to like me. And the thing that eats me away is the fact that I don't know if I _can_.

Jewell and I head onto the elevator, and just as fast, we're downstairs. Instead of being in the Training Center, though, we're in some sort of lobby. As tributes, we're not allowed to stop on this floor, so instantly I'm making sure to take in everything I can. The chandeliers, the portraits, even the people—they're all so beautiful, everything is so beautiful.

Being in the Capitol is truly a once in a lifetime chance. It's such a shame that us tributes are sheltered from the rest of the world, though.

"Is there a chance of us being able to go outside and sight-see?" I ask my Mentor. She doesn't even glance at me; instead, she motions for me to follow her down a rather dark hallway. I nod to myself, sticking close so I don't get lost. She just... She just must not have heard me. That's it, right?

_Or rather, she's disappointed that she has to work with someone like you. She'd much rather work with Vesper, or even that little girl from District Six. Anyone over you._

There it is again, the jealousy. My insecurities. I try to squash it down—but this time, it's harder than usual. Jewell takes us both to a door with _D1 Female_ written on it, but she turns around to look at me before she opens it. I barely have time to cover up the frown on my face.

"Something wrong?"

"Nope! Just excited to start, ma'am!" I grin, placing my hands behind my back. I clench my own fingers, trying desperately to hide the deceit and hurt out of my voice. "Is this my room? I bet it looks lovely inside, doesn't it? I can't wait to see what accomodies the Capitol has lent me!"

Jewell looks a me a bit longer than usual, but just shrugs a second later. "Yeah, it's pretty fancy. I'm used to it by now, but I've taken three other girls here and they seemed to have liked it enough..."

She looks sad for a moment, but I don't understand why. Maybe because she can't really see how beautiful the Capitol is anymore, since she's been here for about five years now. I hope I don't become like that. This city is something else, something different from District One.

Jewell opens the door and walks in, and I go in right behind her. Instantly, I gasp. The carpets are deep and thick, a royal blue color. There are two red couches in the center of the room, both of them looking extremely comfortable. The lightbulb at the top is design I've never seen before, with pointy spikes instead of just being circular–but it's nice as well. And then I see the closet. The door is slightly ajar, letting me see the corner of a frilly blue dress. And don't even get me _started_ on the heels at the bottom!

It's all so very lovely.

For a moment, I forget about the Games—and just like that, old sweet and cheery Adeline is back. Not the jealous, insecure Adeline. Not the dependent, weak Adeline. But just Adeline. The Adeline that I hope everyone falls in love with tonight.

"It's amazing!" I manage to prevent myself from running straight towards the closet. I have a job to do, kinda, and I don't want Jewell to see me as an annoying stereotype. "So what are we going to do first? How am I supposed to get the crowd to love me?"

The older woman sits down on one of the couches, a long sigh coming out of her lips. She's been acting really...depressing for some reason. Why is that? Is it... Is it because she really _doesn't_ want to help me?

"Adeline," she says, her voice like a knife stabbing into my soul. _Here it is. The rejection I never wanted to hear, especially from my idol. _"Before we begin, I'd like to tell you something important. For starters, there have been three other girls standing right where you're standing. And they're all dead. I've had the misfortune of getting to know them, becoming friends with them, and then watching them die horrible deaths in the Arena. After seeing Lola writhing in pain last year, a knife stuck in her back, I promised myself not to get attached anymore. I promised myself to focus only on getting you out alive. But it's not just my responsibility. If you want to make it out alive, you're going to have to want it, _work_ for it. You can't play _any_ games—"

"I won't!" I interrupt, the desperation overwhelming my thoughts. "I promise, Jewell! I-I'll do everything I can..."

_But will that even be enough? I did everything I could to get a good training score. I worked harder than I ever worked in my eighteen years of living. And all that amounted to was a 5. _

"Are you sure, Adeline?" She leans in. And somehow, through the makeup, I can see the lines growing across her face. I can see the tears shining in her eyes. "Because I don't want to get hurt again. If you're going to die, _please_ warn me..."

I bite my lip, hesitating. I want to be able to kid myself, but the optimism is drained out of me. Physically, I'm weak. Emotionally, I'm weak. All my life, I've been given the very best, never having to hear the word _no_. The hardest thing I've ever had to do was choose which dress looked best on me. How can someone like me just be violently snatched out of my comfortable lifestyle and then be expected to shove a knife through someone's eye?

I just can't. I know I can't...

_But you're not alone. _I open my mouth to speak. _Kostos definitely won't let something bad happen to you. Even Terrance isn't that kind of person. As long as you're not alone, you...you have a shot._

That's true. I know how to use my looks to my advantage. I know how to manipulate people. Even though I don't like the thought of actually tricking people, the idea of dying is even more distressing. If I try, I can get the audience to adore me. If I try, I can have Kostos wrapped around my finger. If I try, I...

"I can survive." I gulp, forcing down the tears. All of this is just stressing me out, and I want nothing more right now than to just go home and act like none of this ever happened. But I can't do that. I can't give up. If not for me, then for Jewell.

I don't want her to cry over my death.

All I want is for her to like me.

All I want is for everyone to like me.

For the first time, I just want to be the very best.

* * *

**Michael Riverbee, 13;**

**District Five Male.**

"I can't take this anymore." Alexandra gets up from her seat, glaring at Drusas. "Through my entire time here, you've been nothing but an ass to both me _and_ Michael. And I'm done with it. I'm done with you, this stuffy room, and everyone else in this entire city!"

Our Escort's eyes narrow into slits. "Young lady—!" But it's too late. Without even listening to what Drusas has to say, my District Partner storms out of the room and _slams_ the door. I stay quiet, not really the kind of person to get involved in their daily arguments.

I like them both, so how am I supposed to pick a side? Alexandra is my District Partner, the girl who was supposed to be with me through thick and thin. I really wanted to smile with her, laugh with her—but she's been so persistent in pushing me away. And then there's Drusas; he's mean at times, yeah, but he really does a good job in helping us. In his own twisted way, he really _does_ care.

There's still the ningling resentment lodged in the back of my head, though—something I've never, ever had before. Why am I feeling this way towards the people of the Capitol? Is it...

Is it because they're sending me off to die?

"Shouldn't we go after her?" I ask, swatting that horrible thought away. Drusas just gives me a look. "What if she doesn't know how to get back to our floor? What if she ends up getting in some trouble?"

"That's her own problem then," he replies, trying to look dignified and studious after that little incident. "She's said time and time again how she has photographic memory. Let's see if that's true. Besides, the Peacekeepers will deal with her the moment she leaves this restricted area."

"Oh." I look to the floor, trying to find a little hope that maybe—just maybe—she'll stay safe and out of trouble. She has to, right? I'd like to believe that even though she's constantly being scolded by Drusas, she'll be fine when all of this is done with.

That's all I can hope for, really. Safety. Peace. These Hunger Games can't seriously happen, right? I mean, of course not! Even though I've seen a few on TV, those had to have been silly tricks or something.

Kids wouldn't seriously kill kids. The Capitol wouldn't seriously make us do that.

I don't know what really happens to the Reaped kids, but they aren't dead. They _can't_ be dead...

Because if they are, that means I'll be dead come tomorrow morning. And that's just something I can't accept. My optimism won't allow me. As long as I believe that the Games will be cancelled, or that they aren't even real to begin with, then I can still go around with a smile on my face. The opposite will destroy me.

"Anyway, let's continue our session. I think it's impossible to make you district children truly look great onstage, but we can go through some of the questions Ms. Devrine will ask and you can at least _try_ to answer it appropriately," Drusas says, suddenly sitting up straight, trying to mirror how Aeliana will look. Instead of the usual deadpan expression he wears, it's replaced with a cheerful grin. "So, Mr. Riverbee. How are you enjoying the Capitol?"

I blink, trying to hurry and get myself in the right train of thought. Drusas hates when I say something wrong, so I rack my brain for the right response. Honestly, the Capitol hasn't been too bad. I miss my mom and dad, yeah, and so do I miss Ria and Finley. But I met Ceres here, and I've seen so many things here that I'd never have seen back in District Five.

"Um, it's been nice," I say, not really knowing how to put my thoughts into words. It's strangely embarrassing. "I miss District Five, but the Capitol has been really nice..."

Drusas cuts the happy facade to roll his eyes. "Bland. Of course the Capitol is nice. You need to be more rememberable, Michael, because the odds are against you enough and you'll have absolutely _no_ chance without sponsors. You need to be funny, charming, _strong_. Not meek and awkward and boring."

"I _am_ funny, charming and strong," I tell him, forcing a smirk on my face. "What do you want me to do? Start dancing onstage or something?"

"Don't get snarky," he snaps, narrowing his eyes. I frown, leaning back in my seat—but a sharp glare has me sitting right back up. Ugh, I can't deal with this. I'm really not ready for these interviews.

I'm really not ready for anything.

"Listen, I'm trying to help you. I am. Alexandra doesn't understand it, but I do want one of you to win." He leans in, staring at me with sparkly eyes. "Is it likely? No. Odds are, you're going to be the first one dead. And Alexandra will end up starving without sponsors, something she'll definitely lack. But if you two somehow _do_ get a chance to survive, then we're going to take it. Understand?"

I nod, biting my lip. _He thinks I'll be the first one to die. Is that right? Am I seriously that weak?_

He's probably right. There's no way I could kill somebody. No way at all. The best I can do is run, but I'm pretty sure all of these eighteen-year-olds are faster than me. My training score of _3 _just proves how totally hopeless this all is.

The dread I felt during the Reaping suddenly comes back, hitting harder than ever. I cried, because deep down, I knew the Hunger Games were real. I knew the Hunger Games weren't going to get cancelled. I knew, right then, that I was going to die.

My mom cried, because she knew it was hopeless. My dad looked on with a stony expression, because he knew I was a goner. Even all of my friends cried during the Goodbyes, because they knew that they'd never, ever see me again. It's practically written in stone, isn't it?

_Michael Riverbee, deceased tribute in the Fifth Hunger Games. _

Deceased. But I don't... I don't want to die...

"Are you..?" Drusas blinks, before groaning. "Honestly, Michael. This is no time to be _crying_. If you're that weak, then you might as well give up now. Jump off your pedestal. Just don't _cry_."

I jump out of my seat and run out the door, ignoring his protests. I hate him. I hate his patronizing tone. I hate the Capitol. I hate how they took me away from my family and are sending me to my death. I hate the Hunger Games. I hate, hate, _hate_ the Hunger Games!

Tears blinding my vision, I run down the hall, not even knowing where I am or where I'm going. Most of all, though, I hate how the Capitol can make me feel these feelings. I've never hated anyone before. I've never felt the exhausting weight of resentment lodged deep inside my heart. But now that I'm here, it's like the emotions I've tried so hard to ignore are finally surfacing.

"This is how I truly feel about the Capitol!" I yell, kicking the wall next to me with as much force as I can. If I wasn't running on my emotions alone, it'd really hurt. But right now, I can't even feel it. "I hate it! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! I wanna go home! _I wanna go home!_"

I fall to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. This isn't me. This isn't my personality. I don't hate people. I don't scream and kick walls. I don't cry. I'm playful. I'm cheerful. Energetic and innocent. _Who is this guy on the floor, crying and frustrated? I don't know him. This... This isn't..._

After awhile, I stop my crying. I just stare at the wall, completely numb. I'm done for. By this time tomorrow, I'm going to be on a train heading back to District Five—but this time, it'll be in a wooden coffin. I can only hope that my friends and family back home don't cry too much.

When the Peacekeepers finally come to escort me back to my room, Alexandra handcuffed next to them, I don't struggle. I don't say or do anything. Because I'm dead. I'm dead.

No more smiling. No more jokes and no more games.

How am I enjoying the Capitol? I'm not enjoying the Capitol. I'm not even in the Arena yet, and I'm already broken. This is the real world, the world I've been trying so hard to ignore.

They've already broke me.

* * *

**London Tienna, 18;**

**District Ten Female.**

_I feel like Ria. _

That's the only thing I can think of as Rufus escorts Ricky and I to our stylists. Petunia, my Head Stylist, grins as I walk inside the room. The other three Capitolites are off to the side, rearranging the grooming equipment for probably the umpteenth time. I smile at them all.

_This must definitely be how my little sister feels all day. Manipulating people to do her bidding, not having to move a muscle to live a good life. _

Not that I'm manipulating anyone. I'm truly not. It's just that, seeing Rufus trying so hard to help me, and seeing my stylists trying so hard to make me look beautiful for tonight... I don't know, it just feels weird. I thought that I'd gotten use to the extravagant Capitol lifestyle, but apparently not. Not yet, at least.

"Well then, London. How are you feeling?" Petunia asks, leading me to my other stylists. "By tonight, we'll have you looking like a beauty queen."

I start stripping off my clothes, already knowing the drill and not really caring that these people can see me naked. I'm confident enough in myself to not fret over pointless things like that. Besides, they've already seen it already. The first time might've been a bit surprising, but now I'm just adapting to the weird Capitol culture.

"Aren't I already a beauty queen?" I ask her jokingly, to which they all laugh. I lay down on the metal table—and just like that, everyone gets to work. "Seriously, though, it's almost a bit overwhelming. I'm excited, but kinda scared."

There's a constant chill running through my body, from both the excitement and the nerves. The thought of twirling around in a frilly dress is a good one, but I've never done anything like this before—and even though I've watched previous interviews, I'm still not entirely sure what to expect.

"That's understandable," the guy doing my hair says in a soft voice. "I'm sure they don't have many pageants in District Ten, huh?"

I giggle. "Unfortunately." I tense as I feel the cold sheet of wax being placed on my leg. Oh no, I tried to brace myself for this again, but just the thought of getting my leg hair violently pulled out is a chilling one.

"Don't worry, dear. This'll be over fairly quickly," the Capitol lady with the waxing paper says. I nod, closing my eyes—and just like that, she pulls the sheet off my leg. I wince, but I don't yell out in pain like the first time. Hey, I'm getting stronger!

"That didn't hurt as much as before!" I say, excited, feeling the chill running through my veins get stronger. I almost feel _invincible_ now. "The first step is the darned waxing paper. The next step will be the Hunger Games!"

They all laugh again, finding my confidence hilarious. The lady waxing my legs shakes her head, a smile growing bigger and bigger. "Well, considering we waxed it a few days ago, it's not supposed to hurt as much. But yeah, I guess you can look at it your way."

_That's how I plan to look at it_, I start to say, but then I realize just how...disconnected they are. I just joked about winning the Hunger Games, meaning twenty-three other teenagers would have to be dead...and yet, they just chuckle like I'm talking about food or something. For the first time since coming here, I'm starting to see that maybe these colorful people aren't as jolly as I thought.

Maybe they just don't care—about me, or about death, or about anything in general. I think back to the sight of them arranging and rearranging the supplies. _Well, they care a lot for how I look. That has to amount to something, right?_

I want to believe so. As long as I stay cheerful and optimistic, I can ignore where I am, what these people do, and where I'm soon to be going.

After the lady finishes waxing my legs, another man comes and starts scrubbing away at my skin with a sponge. My hair is still being done up, though, in what I guess is some intricate design because it's taking longer than last time. Through the window to the next room, I can see Petunia working on something, her brows creased. Is she the one doing my dress? That must be it.

"So have you made any allies, London?" The man scrubbing at my skin asks me, his voice all high and _totally_ unexpected. I bite back a laugh, instead choosing to smile like an idiot. But I do that a lot anyway.

"Yep! The girl from District Nine, Toren Ingalls." I close my eyes, still smiling. "We're going to give the other tributes hell, or at least die trying." _But I'm not going to die. Toren might have to, eventually, and my vocabulary isn't even big enough to explain how much that kills me inside. But I'm not going to die. I...can't even imagine it._

My stylists all hum in appreciation. Apparently, her score of _5 _matched with my score of _6 _is good enough to gain us a few sponsors based on that alone. But it's tonight that will determine everything. Rufus told Ricky and I that our very lives depend on the interview tonight. I'm already a fan-favorite. If I can charm the Capitol just a little bit more, then I'll be set.

And I _can_ charm the Capitol. I know I can. I might have a few butterflies in my stomach right now—but when I walk on that stage tonight, I'll be going purely off of instinct. And I'm known to do pretty well when going off my instincts.

We all talk a bit more. They ask about my relationship with Toren, which I reply in which she reminds me of my little sister—except Toren isn't a lazy, manipulative brat. They ask me about my training score, and I tell them all about how I marvelously swung a large machete around and hoped for the best. They even ask me about Ricky, to which I call him a cutie, though it _is_ sad that I won't be allying with him in the Arena.

By the time I'm done talking, they're finished cleaning me up. I'm given a robe to wear, and then they take me to the next room, where Petunia is...nowhere to be seen. Um, where is she? And what about my dre—?

"Close your eyes!" I hear a voice exclaim from behind. Petunia. "And take off that nasty robe!" Before I can turn around and question her, gentle hands are suddenly covering my eyes. A grin finds its way onto my face as I feel the robe sliding off my body and _another_ material sliding on.

A moment passes. My eyes are still closed. In the room, it's completely silent. Are they so stricken with shock at my beauty, or are they disgusted into silence? I'm guessing the former, because Petunia and the other members of my group literally _squeals_.

"Oh my _goodness_, London! It's beautiful!" One of them says above all the other chatter. "Ooh, Ritaya is going to be _so_ jealous when this wins best dress!"

"Can I open my eyes?"

"Y-_YES!_ London, open your eyes!"

And so I do. Thankfully, there's a mirror right in front of me—and as I stare at my reflection, the chill running through my body grows with strength. My messy blonde hair is nowhere to be seen. Instead, they've actually managed to straighten it out, letting it fall to my back and curl up at the ends. There isn't a single freckle on my face; instead, it's hidden behind makeup that makes it seem like I have perfectly smooth skin. My eyes have dark mascara around them, and my lips are colored a luscious red. I look absolutely _gorgeous_, more than I've ever looked in my eighteen years of living.

And then there's the dress. It's a light blue, squeezing at my body to give the illusion of curves. It stops right above the knee and right above my cleavage, giving much room for sex appeal. Blue crystals are placed randomly around my dress— and whenever they catch a glimpse of light, they sparkle. With the whole image put together, I realize that I don't just look gorgeous.

I look stunning. Absolutely _electrifying_.

"I... I love it," I tell them, and I mean it. I love it so, so much. "Thank you, Petunia, everyone. Thank you so much. It's the most beautiful thing I've laid my eyes on."

My prep team all look extremely emotional right now. They're at a loss for words. And for the first time, so am I. _There's no way the Capitol won't love you now, _I tell myself, a grin unintentionally finding its way on my lips. _Even if they loved you already, they'll adore you now. _

And that's good. Because sooner or later, I'm going to have to face reality. Tomorrow, I'm going into the Hunger Games. It's not a party. I'm not going to be cuddling under a tree with Lucas. I'm going to be fighting for my life—_and killing. _The thought makes me sick to my stomach, but if I'm going to win...

I shake my head. No _ifs_.

I'm going to win.

So far, the odds have made my experience in the Capitol more than lovely. I have a strong ally. I got a _6 _for my training score. The Capitol loves me—and will love me even more, considering what I do tonight. But starting tomorrow, I can't be so nonchalant. I can't be so air-headed.

I'm going to win the Hunger Games.

I have everything to win—and as far as I need to be concerned, nothing to lose.

* * *

**Author's Notes: I forgot to mention last chapter. Considering this is an early Games, Antonius is working alone. Like, seriously, he calls **_**all**_** the shots. President Kronin doesn't realize that the mental capabilities to work the Games alone are much too great for anyone to really handle, and that's also why Antonius is slowly cracking with guilt and stress. If you didn't notice, he was the only one watching the tributes during training, and he was the only one there to grade them. So yeah, other than the engineers who actually build the Arena, he's the one who comes up with everything and plans for everything and presses the button to kill the tributes whenever the time calls for it. **

**Also, as you can see, some development is already showing inside some of the tributes. I feel like "nice and cheerful" tributes aren't going to be "nice and cheerful" the entire time. They're being forced to fight to the death. I imagine some of the tributes to fall into depression and do things against their personality. And considering they're going into to Games tomorrow, yeah, I just don't really see most of the cheery tributes skipping around like there's nothing wrong. Except maybe London, because she's an airhead xD BUT EVEN SHE'S DEVELOPING, AS YOU CAN SEE!**

* * *

**So yeah, sorry for that little information dump. But I dread the day when a submitter messages me telling me that I'm getting their tribute or something wrong. I know what I'm doing. So yeah. ANYWAY, this was Interview Preparation! Next chapter will be the Interviews! I know a lot of SYOT writers dislike the Interviews (like the Reapings), so we'll see how I do and feel about them.**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**The Interviews have started. In just a few measly minutes, you'll be onstage convincing the Capitol to sponsor you. What is your Interview Strategy? Do you honestly think that you can get the Capitol to like you?**_

* * *

**Okay, so this chapter is a wrap! Also, if you'd go on my profile and scroll down, you will see my Tumblr and DeviantART accounts! If you go on my DeviantART, I have a BUNCH of cool pictures of the multiple SYOTs I've had the fortune of reading. Go check it out and tell me what you think! If you ask, odds are, I'll end up doing a picture for one of your tributes. :)**

**Remember, reviews are heavenly. The more you review, the happier I get! And don't you want poor old Jalen Kun to be happy? ;-;**

**I'll try to update soon!**

**Bai! **


	15. Interviews

**Author's Note: _TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY! :D_**

* * *

**Interviews**.

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Ula Dylan, 18;**

**District Four Female.**

"Welcome, people of the Capitol! Tonight's the night you've all been waiting for. Tonight, we'll get to meet twenty-four amazing tributes. Tonight, we'll fall in love and maybe even cry. Tonight is the interview for the Fifth annual _Hunger Games!_"

Even though I'm not even onstage yet, the screams and cheers of the Capitol people are _devastating_. The ground shakes, almost as if this is some sort of earthquake. We didn't have earthquakes very often in District Four—but whenever we did, it was a terrifying experience. I guess it makes sense for me to associate terror with what's about to happen.

I'm nervous. Nobody in their right mind wouldn't be nervous for the interviews. If I screw up tonight, I might as well kiss my chances goodbye. Because without sponsors, I'm as good as dead.

And with Caio standing behind me, his forehead shining with sweat and his eyes widened in anxiety, I'm not reassured in the slightest. He practically tore his hair out this morning contemplating what strategy to use for his interview. And then Cassian made some offhanded remark, which made Caio say something really rude—and long story short, I had to deal with them arguing for a few hours rather than actually work on our strategies.

But I may be alright. Luckily for me, years and years of observing people have made me a master in the art of deception. I know exactly how to act for every situation, exactly how to hold myself and exactly how to smile. My allies don't even know the real me, the me back home. All they see is the Ula I project, the individual Ula for each member of my squad.

Strong and reassuring for Caio. Trustworthy and accepting for Breno. Cheery and talkative for Kaya. Realistically, this alliance probably wouldn't work out without me. I'm the sort of person each of my allies need in order to gain the trust that's necessary if we're going to survive longer than a day.

I'm not manipulating them. I'm _not_. I just… I just know that they wouldn't trust me if they knew the real Ula. Back in District Four, I was too quiet and hardworking to really make any friends. The only person that ever opened up to me was Pond, and that was probably only because he was attracted to me.

I'm not a bad person, though. Quiet I may be, my little sisters mean the _world_ to me. I'd do anything for them. I _love_ them—so much so that I signed myself up for a week of unimaginable pain and suffering just to save one of them. I just can't imagine life without them.

And whenever I think of my sisters, it reassures my conviction to keep this alliance running. I can be optimistic all I want—but with the Games just a night away, I can't keep fooling myself that things will be alright. Things _won't_ be alright. I won't last too long without any allies, even with my training score of _6_.

That's why I have to..._manipulate_ my way to victory. I can't kill. I'd never, ever be able to take a life. But Caio can. Kaya can. Even Breno, when push comes to shove, can do it. But I'll never be able to.

I just have to _look_ like I'll be able to.

"Get ready," the man in front tells us, his voice monotone and bored. Us tributes were forced into a line, District One all the way to District Twelve, girl first and boy second. Standing in front of me is the little District Three boy, his brown hair did up into a spiky sort of style.

_He doesn't deserve something like this._ I stand up straighter, forcing my features to remain passive. Tonight, I'll have to somehow woo the Capitol into liking me. There's no way I'd be able to do something like that if all I can think about is how unfair this all is, about how much I hate them all, about how much I wish someone would just drop a bomb into the crowd and kill _everyone_.

I can't let them know I despise their very existence.

"Reigning all the way from District One, let's start the show with Adeline Callard!" Aeliana Devrine's excited shouts are a direct contrast to the atmosphere down here in the waiting room. The girl from District One slowly cuts out of the line and makes her way upstairs—and as soon as she takes her first steps onstage, the crowd's cheers grow in magnitude.

There's a TV down here in the waiting room, and I use that to watch Adeline take her seat in the big plushy couch. The girl looks absolutely stunning, with her blonde hair curled and her big blue dress frilling everywhere. The crowd loves her already—and trying to ignore the big green eyes of Aeliana, Adeline manages to wave at them.

"My, what a big dress you have on, dear." The superstar Capitolite snickers behind her hand. "You almost look like a child!" It's not said in a demeaning way, but the look in Aeliana's eyes tell me that she wanted the comment to hurt. And by the way Adeline turns bright red, forcing out a chuckle, it _did_.

Surprisingly enough, though, the first interview of the night goes by splendidly. Minus a few more jabs from Aeliana, everything goes by smoothly and the crowd is applauding loudly as Adeline exits. Still, as she comes back downstairs and I can finally get a good look at the girl, her eyes are watery and all she can mumble to Jewell Galamory—Victor of the First Hunger Games—is how spiteful and mean Aeliana was.

"I know, I know," the Victor says, ushering the girl to an elevator. "She's a real bitch. But the audience loved you anyway."

I gulp, forcing my attention away from the two as Aeliana Devrine calls up Vesper. I hope she doesn't say bad things about me. I really, honestly, truly don't know how I'd respond to public humiliation.

My thoughts are cut short, however, when I hear a gasp from the audience. I shoot my eyes back to the TV, just in time to see Vesper stand up and glare down at the Aeliana.

"I'm not like Adeline. Don't fuck with me!" He snarls, clenching his fists. Already I can see Peacekeepers huddling in the distance, ready to intervene should something catastrophic happen. "Before you have the nerve to judge someone else, why don't you actually grow some real fucking hair? You piss me off." And then, Vesper turns towards the audience, who seems to shrink at his glare. "All of you are disgusting. Every single one of you! Watching kids fight to the death and then holding ceremonies about it? Why don't we bomb _your_ fucking houses, burn _your_ families, murder _your_ kids? Huh?! How would you all like that?!"

There's absolute silence. Two years ago, both tributes of District Eleven mouthed off to Aeliana and the Capitol, sorta like this. It wasn't a shocker when, in the Arena, acid rain poured down and killed them. Ever since then, most tributes don't dare say anything bad, less they end up like the two from Eleven. Or rather, they say rebellious things on the slick, but nothing too serious.

_This_, though, is serious. And as Vesper stomps offstage, eventually walking past me and to the elevator, I can't help but shake my head. He's as good as dead. The Capitol would never allow a rebel to win the Games. The closest they've got to a rebel Victor is Sylvan Barnes from Seven, but he's more sour than anything.

Even though I agree with Vesper, I can't do what he just did. Because it'll accomplish nothing more than my face in the sky and my cannon in the wind.

"Well then," Aeliana mumbles, the smile on her face looking quite forced. She's pissed off. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm the only one who notices how fake she is. "Interesting choice of words. But no matter! Next up is the lovely Echo Woods from District Two!"

The girl from Two walks onstage in a fiery red dress, matching her beautiful fiery red hair. Honestly, I don't want to say someone from District Two looks great, knowing they endorse the Hunger Games almost as much as the Capitol—but she really _does_ look great.

"So, Ms. Woods. That was quite a spectacle at the Reaping, wasn't it?" Aeliana starts the interview off smoothly, a direct contrast from her attitude with the Ones. "You're not defenseless, as your training score proves. So who was that crying for someone to volunteer for you? A relative of some sort?"

Echo simply smiles, the expression on her face looking so weird considering how she acted in front of us other tributes. She's so fake. _But I can read her like a book. _

"That was my girlfriend, Reyna. I actually wasn't planning on volunteering, y'know? I was training to become a Peacekeeper—but it looks like fate has other plans in store for me." Echo continues smiling, even as she says the next chilling words. "If the Capitol wants me to prove my worth by killing a few kids, I'll do it. All they are is rebels, right?"

She ends her interview spectacularly, no mess-ups like Adeline and no angry outbursts like Vesper. The crowd loved her, and so did Aeliana. Echo is already a favorite, and a contender at that. I saw the way she was looking at our alliance during training. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of her effortlessly raising her sword to cut us down. We'll have to watch our backs, definitely.

The next person to be called up is Kostos Sylett from District Two. He looks hot, not even going to lie. The female members of the audience are practically squealing his name as he sits down, adorned in a red suit. He smiles at them, then at Aeliana.

"You look beautiful today, ma'am," he says in that gentle voice of his. A grin suddenly comes onto his face. "Your _hair_ is simply extravagant."

At the mention of hair, Aeliana winces, but still manages a smile. "Thank you, sweetie. I do try to look my best when I'm talking in front of the entirety of Panem."

"And I try to look my best, too, when I'm headed off to a battle royale." And they both laugh. Kostos plays off the charming, humorous volunteer excellently. At the end of it, I can't even tell that he's here to eventually kill me. He may come off a bit flippant at times, but it adds to the charm. As he walks offstage, the Capitol audience is chanting his name.

It makes me nervous, definitely, but it also reassures me how easily the Capitol is buying their tricks. If they can captivate the Capitol, I know I can. I _have_ to be able to. If not for me, then for my family back home.

"Next in line is the youngest female, coming all the way from District Three. Give it up for Iris Logan!"

The little girl is a big bucket of nerves as she stumbles her way onstage. Honestly, though, she looks amazing in that little brown dress of hers. Her prep team really did their best to make the girl beautiful, because she's absolutely stunning for someone of her age. I just can't help but shake my head, though, when Iris' eyes meet the large crowd in front of her, and her expression almost freezes to one of absolute shock and fear.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell your friends and family back home?" Aeliana asks the girl, a small bit of concern and pity in her voice. Even Capitolites know when something is terribly wrong, I guess.

Iris bites her bottom lip, before an unconvincing smile manages to spread across her face. "Mom, d-dad, please don't worry. I-I'm really enjoying it here, a-and I'll be back home soon. I promise..."

_No... _I force the tears from forming in my eyes. Unlike Isla, Iris didn't have an older sibling to volunteer for her. When her name was called on that fateful day, her time in this world was instantly cut short. I want to run onstage and wrap the girl in my arms. I want to protect her, like how I'd want someone to protect my little sisters if they were ever put in this horrible situation.

But I can't. Because if I do that, I might as well jump off my pedestal tomorrow. If I get attached to any of the little kids, there's no way I'd be able to...kill them. And watching someone else kill them would drive me off the deep end. _It's best if I just...forget about her. _

Look at me. I'd never, ever, _ever_ be able to forget a little girl in trouble back in District Four. My adopted sister River is a clear example of that. But now that I'm in the Capitol, they're changing me. They're turning me into someone I never wanted to be. A _tribute_.

Iris walks back down into the waiting room—and instantly, her Escort is there to comfort her. I stare at the sight, completely puzzled. Why would a Capitolite ever do something like that? They're all evil. Every single one of them. I can't let them fool me, because all it'll take is one second of dropping my guard for them to throw me back into a burning building.

Where do you think the burns on my leg came from? My prep team managed to cover most of it with makeup, but no-doubt Aeliana will ask me about it. How could someone like me possibly acquire burns like this?

It was the Capitol. All the misfortune in my life happened because of people from the Capitol. My family helped in the war, as did most families in District Four. We weren't as crazy as the ones from Seven and Eleven, but we were tough. Tougher than most. As I helped, I honestly didn't realize what I was doing. Sending covert messages and even placing bombs in certain places was just something I did to make my family proud. I didn't understand the wrath of the Capitol, the severity of the jobs I was told to do.

And yet, no matter how much I helped, the Rebellion failed. _I _failed.

My mother was an influential rebel leader. We should have known what was to come. We really should have. But we didn't. Losing the war and thousands of our people were bad enough; we didn't think the Capitol would do anything more. But now I know. The Capitol isn't one to sweep things under the carpet. They finish things as efficiently as humanly possible—no matter how cruel and twisted.

One day, my family and I were sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast. My father was out at work. It was a sullen time, after losing the war, but it was okay because we still had each other. But not for long. Suddenly, soldiers of the Capitol broke down our door and swarmed in our house. They captured my mother and knocked her out. They questioned where our father was. Frantic, I screamed that they would never find him and that they better let my mommy go.

The effect of that outburst was them grabbing me as well. I screamed and screamed, fighting back as hard as I could at just twelve-years-old. But I was no match for the strong men, and I watched in horror as they threw me, my mother, and _so _many other people into a barn. Before I even knew what was happening, the Capitol men had set the barn on fire.

I tried to look for my mother, but the people inside were going hysterical with fear. There was no way I could've found her…

Long story short, I crawled through a little opening meant for the animals and just managed to get away from the flame creeping up my leg.

I close my eyes, trying and nearly failing at keeping the tears away. The screams of anguish coming from the burning barn was horrific. And just knowing that my mother was in there, screaming alongside them…

I shake my head, taking deep breaths. _I don't need to think about that. Stop thinking about it, Ula. Because if you continue thinking about it, you won't be able to keep your mouth shut onstage._

And that's something I can't have happening. Losing control onstage would not only kill me, but endanger the rest of my family. Dad, Brooke, Isla, River, even Solomon… I don't even want to think about what'd happen to them if I said something out of line.

"And next, one of the more younger boys. Please give a warm welcome to Tet Kender of District Three!"

The boy, looking sharp in his silver suit, walks onstage in an almost mechanical way. He doesn't acknowledge the crowd cheering for him, and hardly does he acknowledge Aeliana trying to help him onto his seat. Tet just sits down and stares up at the ceiling, his eyes focused on something non-existent. He's another poor child condemned to a fate that'll do nothing more than eat him alive.

"So, Mr. Kender," Aeliana starts. "Your score of _5_. I know it's against the rules to tell us exactly what you did, but—"

"I didn't do anything. I stabbed a dummy with a knife and walked out." Tet looks away from the ceiling and at Aeliana. I notice, for the first time, Tet's eyes are wide and almost fearful. What happened to the indifferent child from before? "Do I deserve my score? I don't know."

"Oh..." Aeliana quickly changes the subject, the audience puzzled at the boy's almost erratic behavior. She asks him a ton of other questions, and Tet answers them all in short statements. By the time his buzzer rings, signaling that his three minutes are up, Aeliana and the crowd of Capitolites are almost bored to death.

But then... "Why do you all wear these fake accessories?" Tet asks Aeliana, to which she just blinks. "You don't need a wig to look pretty. That's just superficial. You're beautiful just the way you are."

And then that's it from him. I stare at Tet as he passes me, his face closed off. Was that a last ditch effort to gain sponsors? He just ended up sounding weird, honestly. _But he's just a little kid. He's here a million years before his time. What is someone like him supposed to say that'll keep him alive?_

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my back. I glance behind me. It's the Capitol man. He's… He's inching me forwards. Why? Wait…

I realize with crystal clear clarity that I'm next. After the District Three boy is the District Four girl. Me. I'm the female representative from District Four. I'm...finally going onstage in front of thousands and thousands of Capitolites.

"Now please welcome District Four's very first volunteer… Ula Dylan!" Aeliana's voice is as high-pitched as ever. I would always shake my head whenever I heard her childish squeals on TV. Never did I ever think she'd be using that same tone to call _my _name.

I take a deep breath and let the Capitol man usher me forward. The steps to the stage seem long and daunting from my position on the floor—but when I take my first steps, it's like time fast-forwards. Before I know it, I'm at the top of the steps, and the lights of the cameras momentarily blind me.

Spots in my vision, I continue walking. It's like all the outside noise, like the cheers of the crowd and the sounds of cameras flashing, is dulled, and all I can hear is the beating of my heart and the sound of my heels slapping against the wooden floor. As I get closer and closer to the smiling face of Aeliana Devrine, I can't help but notice how outrageously yellow her hair is, and how sparkly her teeth is. On TV, it's noticeable how much work she's gotten done on her appearance—but it's almost surreal seering her like this in real life.

I wonder, how will my family react to seeing me on the television? The thought is enough for me to wipe the mild amazement off of my face and put on a small smirk. Cassian told me that, because of the Reapings, the Capitol will want to see me as mature and capable. I can be mature, capable, and so much more. I can be… I can be anything the Capitol wants me to be.

Will I like it? No. Will I be secretly cursing their very existence? Most definitely. But they won't know that.

Because I need them to like me. I need sponsors. I don't need that old Gamemaker to target me.

I need to win.

For my family, for Pond, and for myself.

* * *

**Ceres Cantrell, 13;**

**District Six Female.**

Even more stupid than the Chariot Rides, the fudging Interviews.

_Just wonderful, _I think, watching as Ula Dylan sits down in the overly large couch. _This is so not a waste of time. Not at all. Why don't we have a freaking dance party, too, afterwards? Or better yet, why not give us time to write an essay on the importance of the Hunger Games and why the Capitol is the best place on earth?_

They're idiots. I hate the Capitol for doing this to us, to _me_. None of what we've been doing and what we're about to do is for me. Walking onstage in front of all of those people during the Reapings wasn't for me. Waving at spoiled, colourful people during the Chariot Rides wasn't for me. Getting dressed up in this purple dress and having my hair done up like this isn't for me.

And dying in the Hunger Games isn't for me, either.

"So, Ms. Dylan," Aeliana says, smiling excitedly. Apparently the constant dishes at her fake yellow hair isn't stopping her enthusiasm just quite yet. "I think we all want to know just what happened to your leg. How did it get burned to such a degree?"

"Oh." Ula chuckles. What's funny about getting burned? "There was a fire in my house. I managed to save my entire family before it fell in on itself. The burn on my leg is proof on how much I care about my loved ones."

_I believe we all understand how much you care about your loved ones_, I think as Aeliana finishes the interview up. _You care about them so much that you're risking your life to save one of them. How heroic. _

I can't help but feel a small bit of resentment as the crowd goes crazy for Ula. They loved her. Their perfect little volunteer, their perfect little puppet. She played the interview amazingly, and now she's going to benefit from it. How is that fair to tributes like me? I didn't voluntarily choose to be here. And the most I'm going to do on that stage is stutter out short little responses.

The Capitol's going to forget about me. Cannon fodder for the main characters, they'll see me as. _And yet, that just may be a good thing. The more attention I bring to myself, the more the Capitol's going to expect from me, and the more disappointed they'll be when they realize I'm borderline useless. _

It's better if I just stay in the background. I'm not a self-deprecating person, but I'm realistic—and realistically, the thirteen-year-old girl from Six isn't going to make it longer than the eighteen-year-old boy from Two. There's only one thing going for me; I'm _smart_. Smarter than a lot of these other tributes, that is. Smarter than Michael, who believes that everything's going to turn out perfectly. Smarter than Ula, who thinks volunteering for her little sister is going to automatically make her the winner.

I may not be able to last five seconds against someone with a weapon, but I _may_ be able to survive on just my wits alone. Or my luck—though I haven't been very lucky lately.

"Next on our list of lovely tributes is Caio Artelle from District Four!" Aeliana exclaims, cutting me out of my thoughts. As the boy steps out of line and walks up the steps, I realize just how close I am to going up there myself. What am I going to say? How am I going to keep myself together with thousands upon thousands of eyes on me? I may be a sarcastic ass on the inside, but on the outside I can hardly look a person in the eye.

If only Vita hadn't spent all her time helping Breno, that favorite-picking bitch.

_Language, _I tell myself automatically, but then wince at the voice inside of my head. It's not my own voice; it's my _mom's_. She would always scold me on my language and my behavior—because even though I rarely talked to people at school, I was the complete opposite at home. With people I don't know, I'm introverted and weird. But with my loved ones, I'm loud and rude.

Now that I'm here in the Capitol, I wish that I could've been a bit more respectful and appreciative towards my mother. She's going to see me _die_ on television, and the only memories she'll have are me being a total sarcastic witch. She always wanted me to act a bit more girly, but I'd just ignore and yell at her.

_Well look at me now, mom. Adorned in a sparkling purple dress and crystal heels, I think I'm the girliest girl in all of District Six. At least you'll have something good to say about your daughter before her cruel demise. _

The thought makes me smile, but it does nothing to replace the utter agony I feel deep inside. I'm going to _die_. I don't want to die. I really, _really _don't want to die.

I'm just a little girl, okay? Underneath my shy demeanor and underneath my snarky attitude, I'm still just a girl that hasn't even lived a fourth of her life. Why am I being forced to captivate a bunch of rich idiots? Why am I being forced into a situation that nobody should ever, _ever_ have to go through?

I don't ask for much. I just... I just want to see my parents again. I want to yell at my mom again. I want to bring my dad lunch again. Hell, I even want _homework_.

All I want is to go back to my boring, irritating life. A life I always took for granted, never even entertaining the thought of it being stolen from me. Now that I know, though, there's nothing I can even do. _Except win. _

_But as I said before, I'm not the luckiest nail in the pack. _

"You have one of the biggest and strongest alliances, Mr. Artelle," says Aeliana. Forcing away the tears, I look at the TV to see the rest of the interview. "They're going to do you well, obviously, but what about afterwards? Who do you think will win in an all-out fight between your allies? Or better yet, who do you think will be the first to betray?"

The camera closes in on Caio's nervous face as he answers. "Um, I-I don't think... I mean, I wouldn't... I wouldn't _betray_, but I'd..." He shakes his head, his fists clenching and unclenching on his lap. "...I don't know how to answer that question..."

"Conflicted?" The interviewer laughs, and the Capitol audience laughs along with her. "You seem to be conflicted with a lot of things, Caio. I do hope you're alright."

_This bitch. Already trying to stir up unneeded drama between allies. _I stare at Caio as he walks offstage and back down into the waiting room. Breno raises a brow at the boy from Four, but neither of them say a word to the other as Caio walks away into an elevator.

"What a bum," I mumble, talking about Aeliana and her fake little smile.

Breno looks down at me and offers a reassuring smile. "I know, but Vita told us to prepare for something like this. It'll be fine."

"Vita told _you _to prepare for this. I don't even think she looked at me today."

My District Partner doesn't respond, and honestly I'm glad he doesn't. It's awkward, talking to him without being allies, knowing that the other has to die for one of us to go back to Six. He understands what Vita is doing just as much as I understand. Why waste attention on the little girl who probably won't even last thirty seconds?

I hate it. But there's nothing I can do about it.

Or rather, there _is_, but screaming at my Escort is a bit too bold for someone like me.

I look back up to the TV, just in time to see Aeliana Devrine smile at Alexandra Fearn of District Five. "So I think the audience would really like to know the details of you volunteering. Why did you do it, and why did those Peacekeepers seem so intent on _not _letting you do it?"

Alexandra, adorned in a bold black dress, slowly shakes her head. "There are three types of people in District Five, I believe. The people who let things happen to them without any form of resistance. The people who take their chances at an opportunity for survival, no matter the danger. And then the bumbling idiots who feel as if they own the world just because they have a little authority."

Aeliana blinks. "And…?"

"I'm the second type of person. That Peacekeeper is the third."

Alexandra's interview goes off without a hitch, and the Capitol cheers for their little volunteer. Another girl I can't help but resent, even though Michael told me that she's a good person when you get to know her. Thing is, I won't be getting to know her. Tomorrow, we'll be nothing less than enemies, hell-bent on killing each other.

_What a cheery person you are, _I tell myself. And then, I realize that Michael is next. My ally. My friend.

"Good luck," I whisper, just as the Capitol man ushers my ally forward. He doesn't even look back at me, much less say anything. Now that I think about it, my ally hasn't said a word to me this entire night. Is he alright?

My suspicions are proved correct when he walks onstage and doesn't even smile. Michael _always_ smiles—even when there's absolutely nothing to be smiling about. When he approached me right before the Chariot Rides, I didn't know what to think. I'm paranoid by heart, but he just seemed like such an innocent person. He seemed like someone who knew no wrong, much less someone who could _do_ wrong.

Now, though, as he sits in the couch and stares straight into the camera, I don't see the Michael from before. I don't see a boy that befriended the quiet, snarky girl despite the circumstances. I see a boy who finally realizes what a horrible world he lives in, and how there's absolutely _nothing_ he can do about it.

"Well, Mr. Riverbee," Aeliana begins, signature grin matching her perky tone. "You don't seem very happy. Is something the matter?"

"I..." It's like the soul has been sucked out of my friend. He struggles to answer for a bit, but then he just gives up and shakes his head.

"I guess you're feeling too many emotions, and you just don't know how to deal with them." Aeliana sounds so sure of herself. So very, very smug—like seeing a thirteen-year-old boy so depressed is something to be proud of. "The Games _are_ tomorrow. I bet you're as excited as we are!"

"N-No..."

"What's that?"

Michael looks up at Aeliana, tears brimming. I can't do anything except gape as the cheerful boy who wouldn't stop talking to me, _laughing_ with me, is reduced to nothing but silent tears. What could've happened to him? How can anything take away Michael's shine? I may not have acted it, but I _did_ appreciate his positive nature. What happened to that?

"Why is this happening..?" He practically whimpers, wiping the tears away with his sleeve. The crowd is dead silent as he continues. "Why am I going to die tomorrow? I didn't... I didn't even _do_ anything..!"

There's a pause. But then, Aeliana seems to smirk. "Honey, I think that's something you need to figure out yourself. If you don't want to die tomorrow, well, fight!"

"But... But I can't..."

"Then I wish you the best of luck, Michael Riverbee."

The rest of the Interview is composed of Michael crying and Aeliana asking pointless questions that my ally hardly even tries to answer. In the end, a few people clap for Michael, but it's nothing compared to the tributes before him. I'd be surprised if a single person in the crowd even has the _thought_ of sponsoring him after this. And if my once-exuberant ally can't even get any sponsors, what does that mean about me?

The both of us—_dead_.

And it's Aeliana's fault, the Capitol's fault, _Panem's_ fault for being such a stupid place. I _hate_ Panem. I hate how the rebels just _had_ to start a war and lose. I hate how the Capitol just _had_ to find the worst possible punishment available. I hate how Vita just _had_ to choose my name out of literally thousands upon thousands of others. I hate how Michael just _had_ to befriend me, force me to grow attached to him, and then realize just what a shitty place this is right when I need him the most.

I hate how scared I am, of both going onstage and going into the Arena. I thought that the other tributes would ignore me because of my lack of presence—but now, I think I was wrong. Won't they just target me even _more_ now because they know how easy it'd be to take me out?

"Up next is Michael's adorable ally, Ceres Cantrell from District Six!"

Beside me, Michael is being chewed out by a rather chubby man. "That was just pathetic," says the man, staring down disapprovingly at him. "I thought Alexandra was going to be bad, but it turns out you were the one that was going to disappoint me." Michael can't do or say anything to the massive scolding. All he does is cry, wiping his eyes over and over again.

_So stupid. _With a fire in my chest, I ignore them and walk up the stairs. Earlier, I thought I'd be nervous. That's the correct emotion to feel when you're about to make a fool out of yourself in front of millions of people, right? Well, I think I've proved to a lot of people that I'm not a normal thirteen-year-old girl.

I'm awkward. Sarcastic. Tomboyish. Paranoid. Maybe even a bit cynical.

But I'm not normal. And as I step out of the shadows and into the spotlight, I realize a normal person wouldn't be able to stand something like this. My vision is blinded by the flashing lights, but I continue walking. The screams and cheers of the Capitol audience is enough to make me deaf and disoriented, but all I do is take a deep breath and continue walking.

I won't let them make a fool out of me.

Finally, I make it to my seat. I sit down in the plush couch, ignoring Aeliana's helping hand. And then I wait for the crowd to shut up.

When they finally _do_ stop screeching, I open my own mouth to talk. "This is stupid."

The silence takes on a new, different tone. It's an awkward silence, because nobody knows what to do or say. _Did this thirteen-year-old brat just call our wonderful ceremony stupid? Was she being funny or just plain rebellious?_ This is what I presume the audience is thinking.

And Aeliana, with her yellow hair and blinding white teeth, just smiles. "Well then, you're a feisty one! Different from your ally, aren't you?"

"You could say that." I struggle to maintain eye contact with the Capitol lady, but I want her to know just how much I _hate_ her existence. I want her to know that how she treated Michael, my _friend_, was just plain _wrong_. "And you're stupid, too. Don't you think we all know that you're some bald freak who can't afford a better wig?"

On the outside, I must look calm and controlled and even _feisty_. But on the inside, I feel like I'm about to melt into nothingness. This isn't me. I'm not supposed to be saying these things. I never, _ever_ let my true feelings show. My sarcastic demon is in my head, not anywhere for people to hear. I'm _shy_, and I should definitely be stuttering out answers to her pointless questions.

But right now, it's like the rage I'm feeling has manifested into something new. A new Ceres. A Ceres that will finally say what she's thinking, no matter the consequences. And yes, I _know_ there will be consequences.

But what's a worse consequence than forcing me into an Arena with twenty other people who won't hesitate to kill me?

Maybe this is why I'm changing. Tomorrow is the Games. The dread and anger and terror I'm feeling can't just be contained, or I'll probably _explode_. If I don't let the world know how I feel now, I'll probably never be able to.

"That's not a nice thing to say..." Aeliana's still smiling, but the look in her eyes is almost ferocious. "Let's not call each other mean words, okay? I think you're a _very_ beautiful girl, Ceres, and beautiful girls such as ourselves shouldn't resort to useless name-calling."

"Stop it with the patronizing bullshit!" I yell, and the members of the audience gasps. _How can such a young girl have such a dirty mouth?_ they're probably thinking. "Stop treating me like you're so much better! B-Because you Capitol people... You people have twisted minds if you actually think you're better than us just because you were born in a city while we were born in a district!"

"Ceres, dear, where is this anger coming from?"

"You don't think I should be angry? Well I'm angry. I think we're _all_ angry." I make a gesture towards the waiting room. I can only imagine the look on Michael and Breno's face as they watch this. "You people are forcing us to fight to the _death_. Our lives... Our lives aren't a _game! _This is _sick_ and _tortuous_ and we all _hate_ you because of it!"

The audience is in complete shock. From where I'm sitting, I can see a Capitol lady with a completely white face, her mouth open in astonishment. I chuckle; these people don't hear what I'm saying. They're shocked that I'm actually letting out my feelings rather than bottling them, not because they're understanding what horrible people they are.

Well I've had enough of bottling up my feelings. I do that every single day, and I'm sick of it. If I'm going to die tomorrow, I'd rather die being myself rather than another puppet.

"...Please, honey, just sit down and calm yourself." She sounds so condescending. I hate it. It makes me want to punch her in her face. "The Hunger Games were instilled because it's a punishment. Even if you had nothing to do with the rebellion—"

"Even if I had nothing to do with the rebellion, which I _didn't_, you're still going to toss me to my death tomorrow because you don't care. None of you care. You're all just sick, demented human-beings and I can't even stand _looking_ at you!"

She reaches out to place a hand on my shoulder. "Calm—"

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" I jump out of my seat, tears in my eyes. The anger is finally subsiding. And with it comes the sadness, the insurmountable sadness that claimed Michael's soul. "Y-You can't _dare_ tell me to calm down, b-because you're not the one who will...who will probably n-never see their family again. You're not the one who will probably never laugh with their friends again."

Aeliana stares at me. For a moment, I think I see compassion or at least a bit of pity. But that moment goes away pretty quickly, because her eyes suddenly hardens and so does her voice. "I think we might have to cut this interview short, Ms. Cantrell."

_Really? I thought you were going to ask me for my favorite color._

Ignoring the millions of eyes on me and the cameras broadcasting my every move, I spin around and stomp away. I rush down the stairs, not even caring how I look anymore. I said what I needed to say—and honestly, I don't even know how I feel about it. Relieved that I finally got that out of my chest? Angry that I couldn't tell my parents how much I miss them?

No, I don't feel either of that. I feel hopeless—because no matter what was said tonight, I'm still going into the Hunger Games tomorrow. I'm still going to die. And no matter how much I kick and scream and cry, that will never change.

"Ceres!" Vita gets in my way of the elevator. I hadn't even realized that I dragged my feet over here. I guess it's better that way, though, because I don't think I'd have been able to handle everyone's eyes on me for much longer. "What was _that?_ Do you have _any_ idea of what you just did tonight? Honestly, Mrs. Verbunska was going to spend quite a bit of money on you—and now look what you just went and said! What got into you, young lady?"

I look up at my Escort, curse words and insults dying in my throat. I can't even find the strength to cry anymore.

I look back down, shrugging my shoulders. "Puberty, maybe? I don't know..."

* * *

**Isabel Abriani, 18;**

**District Twelve Female.**

"Hopefully in a better mood than little Ceres, let's give a round of applause for Breno Harmont!"

I can't help but stare at the elevator, even when the little girl from Six leaves. Yelling at Aeliana took some serious bravery, bravery that someone five years older doesn't even possess. I'm always saying things that I feel other people would like to hear, even when I don't believe it myself—so I can't even begin to imagine screaming about the injustices of the Capitol.

They're wrong. The Hunger Games is wrong. And I know it's wrong.

But _they_ don't know it's wrong—and I'm not going to be the one to tell them it is.

"You okay, Isabel?" Eion asks me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. I look him in the eye, and I can't help but feel even worse about myself. "Don't worry, okay? If that lady says anything bad about you, I promise you, she'll regret it."

"It's not that..." Usually, I'd just nod and let him believe that he's protecting me. But... But we're going into the Games tomorrow. If I don't say what's on my mind, I just may end up fainting from the sheer pressure. "That girl from Six, Ceres. She said all those things, knowing that she'll probably be punished because of it. And I... I want to be able to say what I believe in, too...but..."

_But you won't. Because you can still see a chance of returning back home, and you don't want to ruin that. And because of your self-preservation, you hate yourself. You hate that Ceres can say all of those things without fear, while you're too afraid to even blink the wrong way._

"...But you're scared the Capitol will punish us for it, or even our families," Eion finishes for me, sighing. "And you're right. We can't say what Ceres said. But that doesn't mean we're bad people, Isabel. We're just...doing what we need to do to survive." He chuckles, though his eyes betray the gesture. "I know, I know. Damn, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but I'm just..."

"You're just being honest," I finish. He nods, managing another reassuring smile, before he looks away from me and back towards the television. Eion is an honest person, almost to a fault, and I can definitely see what he means. In his thought process, Ceres was acting desperately, because he knows that she stands no chance at winning this. But unlike her, we do stand a chance—no matter how small. And yelling at Aeliana and the Capitol would just ruin it.

It makes him sick. It makes _me _sick. But… But it's what we have to do if we don't want to die controversial deaths in the Arena.

I look back up towards the television, placing thoughts of the poor little girl to the back of my mind. If I sit here and think about her, I'll blank out and end up missing the entire interview. Watching it now, though, I see that I actually did miss most of it.

"You're a very intelligent young man, Breno," Aeliana says, grinning again. "And I wish you the best of luck in the Arena."

As Breno walks off the stage, only one thought flies through my mind. How does Aeliana manage to constantly be the center of attention? The entirety of Panem is judging every single word she says. Just the mere _thought _is making my stomach churn.

_Well, you better get over it. Because in a few minutes, it's you who's going to be judged by every single person in this city. It's you who's going to be judged by every single person in this world. _

"Let's give a warm welcome for Calla Mallow, the female tribute from District Seven!"

The crowd cheers as the red-headed girl makes her way onstage, dressed in a beautiful green dress. She just looks so _confident_ in herself. Nervous, of course, but not to the point of crying hysterically. Just by watching her sit down and make friendly greetings with Aeliana, I can tell that she's _way_ better than me. Way better in every way possible.

_Always inferior. To Ceres, to Calla—to everyone. _

"So, we know that you're in an alliance with the two cuties from Three and your rather dashing District Partner." Aeliana smiles fondly at Calla. I feel like she genuinely likes the girl, which is rare. "Is there anything you'd like for us to know? Anything _juicy?_"

Calla laughs a little, but it's obvious that the millions of viewers are slowly getting to her. _It'll be even worse for me. _"Well, Iris is just the sweetest little girl you'll ever meet. And Tet... It's crazy how smart that kid is." She pauses a little, before chuckling some more. "And Daniel, he... He's really..._friendly_."

The crowd _oohs_ a little at that, while Calla just blushes. Aeliana laughs, and then asks the girl about herself. I noticed that the girl is always saying such great things about other people, like her family and her allies, but I've yet to hear one good thing about Calla Mallow.

"Me? I mean, I'm just..._me_. Nice, helpful..._me_."

The girl is awarded with plenty of claps and cheers as she leaves the stage. There's a weird look in her eyes as she nears the elevator, an excited glint, but she simply walks in without so much as a word. She's a girl I won't be able to ever learn a single thing about, merely because we're both going to be forced into a life-or-death competition tomorrow.

It makes me sad—not for myself, but for the others. If I somehow win, against all odds, that means everyone else will be dead. Will I be able to live with myself, knowing I inadvertently killed twenty-three others by just staying alive? I don't think my conscious is good enough to handle something like that.

It's now I realize. These Interviews aren't just for the Capitol to learn about us. They're for the tributes to learn about each other, to make it one-hundred percent harder to raise a hand against each other. It's so that the Victor can live the rest of their days, plagued with the memories of kids who had to perish for them to be alive.

It takes a strong mind to be able to withstand insanity. And I'm not that strong. _Not stronger than any of these other kids. _

Maybe Nerva was right. Jumping off my plate would save me from going crazy, as well as save the future Victor from having to get their hands even more dirty than it needs to be. _Because I don't deserve to win. I don't. I don't..._

_But I don't want to die._

"Let's give it up for another volunteer! Daniel Church from District Seven!"

The boy walks onstage with the most confident smile I've seen so far. And as he sits down, kissing Aeliana's hand, I realize that this is the person who has what it takes to win this. This is the boy who the Capitol will be proud of, a boy who's strong enough not to not be broken.

_Look at you, raising everyone's self-esteem—everyone except yourself, of course. _

"My little brother's birthday is in two days," Daniel says, and the Capitol audience goes dead quiet as he continues. "I... I just hope I'll be able to live long enough to celebrate it. I especially want to come back home, so that we'll both be able to celebrate together."

Aeliana leans over and places a hand on his knee. "You really love your brother, don't you?"

"Well... He's the only person I have left."

As Daniel leaves the stage and the audience is practically reeling, I can't help but have my eyes follow him all the way to the elevator. During training, he helped my alliance a bit with the weapons, though he wouldn't really answer why when Eion questioned him. And then I've been seeing him talking a lot with the other tributes, the ones that aren't even in his alliance. Who really is Daniel Church, and what game is he playing?

"Next on our list is the fiery Kaya Vause, all the way from District Eight!"

The girl boards the stage, adorned in a black and red dress, the smile on her face almost looking pained. Even as the audience shouts her name with vigor, Kaya doesn't even wave. It's almost as if she's nervous—not of them, but of _herself_. The wide look in her eyes and the clenching of her hands just seem to prove my point.

"So, Ms. Vause, that dashing score of 8 is _unheard_ of for a girl of your district!" Aeliana begins, not noticing the rather angry look in Kaya's eyes. "Is it because you're extremely skilled, or is it because you're rather violent? Or both?"

There's a pause as the Capitol audience laughs at Aeliana's little joke. Kaya stares at the crowd in front of her, then back at the interviewer. "Violent?" She says, voice low. "Not necessarily, no. I _can_ be, though."

Despite her rather silent rage, the interview goes by without a hitch. Instead of being nervous of how the Capitol will judge her, it's almost like Kaya didn't give a damn about their opinions. As she goes into the elevator, I find myself wishing I was her. Someone bold, someone confident.

"Next up is Zander Engres, the male tribute of District Eight!"

The boy is dressed in a black suit with a crimson red rose on his chest. He would be charming, if not for his extremely wide eyes and stiff posture. As he sits next to Aeliana, it's like he's trying yet failing to be indifferent. It's good enough, though. When I get up there, I don't even think I'll be able to do _that_.

"You're choosing to go into this alone, am I right?" Aeliana asks him. Zander just nods. "Why is that? You feel like you're capable enough to beat the odds on your own?"

"I wanted to work with my District Partner, but she turned me down," he says, and it's like his nervous front is peeled right off. It's replaced with an almost manic look. "But that's okay. She'll pay for that."

"...District Eight is rather crazy this year," Eion mumbles as Zander walks offstage. I look over my shoulder at him, and he just smiles. "It's good that we don't have a relationship like that. Can you even imagine us trying to _kill_ each other?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth, his face makes it clear how much he regrets them. Before he can severely apologize, though, I shake my head, forcing a smile. "It's okay," I say, voice breaking at the mere thought of harming Eion—or him harming _me_. "It's okay..."

"From District Nine, the lovely Toren Ingalls is next!"

The girl walks onstage with a tight smile on her face, occasionally waving when people scream her name. She sits down and manages a small grin when Aeliana compliments her flowing hair, and Toren even compliments the Capitol superstar on her own appearance.

"And how do you think you're going to win, Ms. Ingalls?" Aeliana questions.

Toren thinks about this for a moment. "I might be younger than a lot of the other tributes, but I'm determined to win and independent enough to do it. It'll be hard, of course, but more amazing things have happened before. Right?"

The interview goes off spectacularly—and even though she's three years younger than me, I find myself wanting to be like her. Confident, secure, hopeful for the future. As she walks into the elevator, giving a small smile to the District Ten girl, I realize that she's another girl who can win and even cope with her actions.

Trying is all someone like me will ever be able to do. Trying is something I've been doing for as long as I can remember. Living in Twelve wasn't as hard as many people like to think, at least not for me. My parents were well-off, being apart of the Merchant's Section and all, and honestly I've never had to worry about missing a meal. Of course, that doesn't mean my life was perfect.

I was enrolled into Twelve's most finest school, surrounded by people who were far more superior than me. I always felt like I never fit in, wherever I went, and I would always end up in the shadows of the more popular girls. I had friends—but none of them would ever really talk to me, and the closest we'd get to "hanging out" is me following the clique wherever they went.

I felt unappreciated. Hollow. I think... I think the only reason I'm still here today is because of my parents. They'd be the only ones to really talk with me, ask for my opinion, _compliment_ me. All I really wanted in Twelve was for somebody, _anybody_ to compliment me. Just for one single person to notice me, to be my friend, to _appreciate_ me.

I tried to emulate the other girls, from their look to their walk, but it'd never end up working out. Or it'd work _too_ good and the entire class would end up talking about me—which is something I just couldn't deal with. I still can't deal with that. Having so much attention on little inferior me, the whispering insults and the sarcastic smiles...

My thoughts are broken by Aeliana's laughter and the Capitol's cheers of approval. I look back up to the TV, realizing that Terrance Vallier from District Nine is almost finishing up his interview. He's the boy who allied with the Pack, the boy who somehow got a _7 _as his training score. And now that he's onstage, I see he's also a...Capitol supporter.

"The Capitol saved my life when the rebels destroyed it," he says, a confident smile on his face. "I'm forever indebted to the Capitol and their benevolent nature. If the Hunger Games are just a way to show my gratitude, then so be it."

Aeliana chuckles. "Well, Mr. Vallier. I do hope you come back in a week or two. Your patriotism is truly endearing."

And that's it from him. Terrance is probably awarded the biggest applause I've heard, the entire ground shaking as he leaves the stage. As he walks into the elevator, coolly passing by, I realize just what a threat this boy is. I realize that while we're learning about the people we could kill, we're also learning about the people who could kill _us_.

"From District Ten, let's meet the glorious London Tienna!"

The girl from Ten walks onstage, laughing and grinning and waving like an excited child. I stare in complete awe as she handles the interview perfectly, talking to Aeliana like they're long lost friends. It's almost as if she doesn't realize the entirety of Panem is silently judging her—or maybe she just doesn't care. Whatever it is, I'm...jealous. I want to be like _her_.

"—and I _swear_, that guy was _so_ fat. I mean, there aren't a lot of chubby people in Nine, but he was just morbidly obese!" London laughs, and the audience laughs along with her. Isn't this interview taking a bit longer than the others? "So when I whispered to my friends how fat he was, he _heard_ me. Yes, I kid you not—he _heard_ me! I was getting ready to run, but suddenly he burst into tears and ran away instead!"

Aeliana is literally dying of laughter, tears streaking down her face. "Stop! Stop! Please, Ms. Tienna you're just a riot!"

The girl from Ten exits the stage with a standing ovation, the Capitol audience cheering and laughing at the same time. Is it even possible to woo the crowd that well? I was going to try and emulate her style, b-but there's no way I'd be able to do something like that without breaking down in the process.

"Hopefully as funny as his District Partner, let's give a warm welcome to Ricky Laris of District Ten!"

_Ricky. _When my ally turns around and meets my gaze, I try to smile reassuringly. I want him to do well. Not just because him doing well will mean our alliance sponsors, but because I sincerely want him to do well. I already know I'm going to bomb the interview, but that doesn't mean _he_ has to.

He's such a nice person. When Eion impulsively added him to our group, I honestly didn't know how to respond. But I'm glad he did, because Ricky is the kind of guy you meet once in a lifetime. Gawky, kind... He doesn't deserve to be here. None of us do—but Ricky _really_ doesn't.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell the Capitol?" Aeliana asks, already over London's performance. "You seem sweet, but what is your strategy for winning?"

Ricky shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Um, w-well... I have two amazing friends watching my back...and I'm watching theirs. If we try, I-I think we can do it?"

_Amazing. _He just called me amazing. I don't know if he was just saying it for the cameras...but he actually called me amazing. He called me his _friend_, even! That was something I could never, ever get from my acquaintances in Twelve. I always called those girls my friends, but they never genuinely called me theirs.

It makes me happy, and oh-so sad at the same time. Tomorrow, he could die. _I_ could die. It's not fair... It's not fair...

"Coming all the way from District Eleven, let's welcome the mystifying Meeko Brighton!"

The fourteen-year-old girl walks into the stage with a deadpanned, yet sophisticated feel to her. The cheers of the audience seem to do nothing to her state of mind, as she sits down in the plushy couch and doesn't even smile. Yet another girl I wish I could emulate.

Aeliana questions Meeko, but the girl doesn't say a word. She nods and shakes her head just fine, but she just doesn't _say_ anything. It gets to the point that Aeliana actually _asks_ for Meeko to talk, and she just shakes her head. Why isn't she talking? Is she... Is she mute? Or is she so angry with the Capitol that this is her own personal rebellion against them?

Nonetheless, a few people clap and cheer for the girl as she exits—though it's nothing special, and she doesn't even seem to care. As she walks past her District Partner, though, she stops and gives a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder. So she _does_ care. It's just hard to see it.

"Let's meet another one of our wonderful volunteers! Koda Samuels from District Eleven, everyone!"

The little boy is a bucket of nerves, but he actually manages a convincing smile and runs onstage. The crowd is clapping and cheering for little Koda—and while he still looks a bit unrelenting, the audience's approval of him is obviously a confidence booster. He sits in the big couch and grins at Aeliana, who smiles right back.

"Excited for tomorrow?" She asks.

He blinks, a second of fear overtaking his features, but then he just grins again. "Nope! I'm just fine! By the way, Meeko's mute, so that's why she wasn't talking. Nothing personal against you or anything."

So she _is_ mute. Immediately, my heart goes out to the little girl from Eleven. The Capitol has no mercy, none at all. How are they able to justify the slaughter of a fourteen-year-old mute? It's just not right. It's _wrong_. So, _so_ very wrong.

Koda's interview goes by without any problems, and he leaves the stage with a standing ovation. The relieved look on his face as he goes to the elevator is enough to momentarily calm my own nerves. I'm so happy for him. Come tomorrow, he'll just be another boy trying to survive. But tonight... Tonight, Koda _shined_.

"We're almost finished, everyone! Give it up for Isabel Abriani of District Twelve!"

"Good luck," Eion whispers, but it all falls on flat ears.

It's my turn. I tried to prepare myself for this moment, but...but I realize now that that was impossible for someone like me. I cried during the Reapings because of my paranoia of being judged, not even because of the fact that I could very well die. How am I supposed to cope with thousands upon thousands of eyes on me? How am I supposed to cope with my face being broadcasted to literally millions and millions of people?

_I can't cope. I can't... I can't do this..._

The Capitol man ushers me forward—and reluctantly, I walk up the steps, tears in my eyes. _I can't. _When the bright light hits my face and the roar of the crowd enters my ears, more tears roll down my cheeks. _I just can't. _When I see my face on the big Capitol screens, eyes wide and terrified, it's like a wave of nausea rolls through my body.

_I can't do this..!_

Before I even know what's happening, my lunch is coming back up and out of my throat, right onto the stage. Aeliana yelps in shock. The audience members all gasp in astonishment. I look down at the green mess in front of me, my throat burning, and even more tears slide down my face.

My vision blurs.

_I didn't want to stand out._

My legs give out from under me.

_I just wanted to be normal like everyone else. _

I hit the floor hard—and the last thing I see is the disgusted face of a Capitol lady, viewing me as the disgusting, inferior girl from District Twelve.

* * *

**Author's Note: Words cannot describe the amount of pain and suffering this chapter made me feel. Honestly, this was even worse than the Reapings. Never again am I going to try and give each of the tributes their own little time to shine. It just takes too much time and made this unbearably long and hard to write...**

**But hey, this is my first SYOT. I learn from my mistakes. :) Hopefully this chapter wasn't unbearable to read. Excuse any mistakes, too; I refuse to proofread and edit this xD **

**As you can guess, I got really lazy at the end of this chapter. Don't talk about me too much, o-okay? ;-;**

* * *

**So yeah, a few things I need to say. I want to apologize for how long this update took. My procrastination, plus my education, plus the length of this chapter all contributed to it. Also, I honestly don't know when the next update will be. I'll be writing and I should definitely finish the next chapter sooner than this one, but I'll be at my auntie's house for a while and she has no internet meaning no computer meaning no real way to update. I may be able to update at my godmother's house, but I don't know for sure. I'm sorry... ;-;**

**Also, TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY! JUNE 4TH, BABY! Reviewing would be the best present you could give me. Even if you aren't an active reviewer, it's fine. :) Just a simple line will do wonders~!**

* * *

**_What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?_**

**_Your interview with Aeliana Devrine is next. You practiced all day, and you're almost positive that you can captivate the Capitol into sponsoring you. As you're walking onstage, though, you slip and fall flat on your face! What do you do?_**

* * *

**Remember, today's my birthday and a review would be a magical present! ^_^**

**Bai! **


	16. Launch

**Launch.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Iris Logan, 12;**

**District Three Female.**

Balbina opens up the curtains, letting the bright light shine into my otherwise dark room. I squint my eyes, turning away from both my Escort and the light. _Leave me alone, _I want to say, but all I do is whimper and curl into a ball, the sheets on my bed guarding me from the outside world.

If only it was that simple. In the past week, I've felt a spectrum of emotions, emotions I've never felt in my entire life living in Three. Happiness was the only emotion I was ever able to feel back home—but here, it's almost as if the Capitol wishes to squeeze out every single feeling I own.

Sadness at being Reaped. Anger at being forced to partake in this horrible tournament. Joy at having found the nicest, strongest alliance here. I even think… I even think I feel _love_. Whenever I look at Tet, my heart aches, my palms sweat, and it's just so hard to hold a decent conversation with him when I can't help but blush whenever he looks at me.

The emotion I'm feeling now, though, is hopelessness. Ever since last night's interview, a horrible feeling of dread has snaked into my heart. I realize… I realize that I'm going to _die_. And not only that, but my friends and family will be forced to _watch _me die. Their hearts are going to be broken into a million pieces, and it's all because of my hopelessness. My incompetence at fighting, or surviving, or doing _anything _except helping people who probably think I'm annoying in the first place.

The sheets on my bed aren't enough to stop the sharp knives that'll cut through the air, landing in my neck and ripping away at the skin and—!

"Iris, sweetheart, it's time to get up," my Escort says, gently ripping the covers off of me. I shake my head, still curled up into a ball, refusing to open my eyes and greet a world that's so determined on killing me.

"No…" I whimper, forcing the tears back. I feel Balbina sit on the edge of my bed, and her hand meets my shoulder. Her sharp, manicured nails gently tap on the bone.

"Iris…"

"Please… Please don't make me…" I can't help but cry now, gasping for breath as I try to keep the sobs away. "I don't… Please, Balbina, I-I can't… I can't do this…"

She doesn't respond, and I can't help but open my eyes to see what's wrong. The moment I see her face, though, I instantly regret it. Big fat tears are strolling carelessly down her cheeks, her lips thinned to probably stop from crying out loud like me. Never have I ever seen my Escort look sad, much less actually _cry_. And witnessing _her _crying just makes _me _cry even more.

_Look what you did. You can't just stop at your friends and family, can you? No, you've got to make your Escort feel horrible, too._

...I'm going to die today. I've not yet fully come to terms with it, but I do know that my death is slowly approaching. What I can't stand, though, is making the people I care about hurt because of it. All my life, I've done the most that I could do for other people, trying my hardest to be the sweet and amiable girl that everyone adores. A people-pleaser, you could say.

Whatever anyone asked me to do, I did it. Even when they didn't ask, I picked up on their body language and did it anyway. So whenever I caused my loved ones strife, it really hurt, because my whole life is dedicated to being that sweet and helpful girl.

Even now, when I'm about to die, I can't help but think about the agony my friends and family will feel when they realize that I'm dead and gone. It hurts more than the idea of me dying. It hurts more than anything in the world.

Sitting up, I sniff, wiping the tears out of Balbina's eyes. Somehow, throughout my week in the Capitol, this colorful person has become one of my loved ones. The difference is, though, instead of helping her, she's been doing everything in her power to help _me_.

"Iris…" Balbina looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath, before looking back down at me. "Honey… Throughout my years being District Three's Escort, never have I met a girl as sweet as you. You're the… You're the only tribute I've ever, _ever _cried about. And I... I just don't know why I'm feeling..!"

I quickly wrap my arms around my Escort, breathing in her sweet perfume. Her breath hitches in her throat, before gingerly, she wraps her arms around me as well. And for a moment, we just stay like this, the sounds of the multiple Avox making breakfast in the distance.

I retract from the hug, managing a small smile. "It's okay," I say, slowly getting out of bed. As my feet touch the floor, I realize that this is the last time I'll ever be able to sleep in a bed—but I gulp down those thoughts and gently grab my Escort's hands. "It's okay. I'll… I'll be ready soon. You don't have to worry."

_It's me who has to worry. But just like always, I'll take away their anxieties and keep it for myself._

"Iris…" Balbina squeezes my hands, the expression on her face too saddened for someone of the Capitol. But somehow, I've been able to worm into her heart—just like how she's wormed into mine. "You may be the youngest tribute I've ever escorted, but you're easily the strongest. And I am not lying."

_The strongest? _The grin that settles on my face is too much to hold back, and this time, happy tears fall down my face. _The strongest. _This is the first time anyone has ever called me strong. I've always been so underappreciated back in District Three. Just because I was overly sweet to everyone, people grew suspicious of me and my motives. Just because I tried to be as helpful as possible, people even grew _irritated _of me.

But to Balbina, I'm not suspicious. To Balbina, I'm not irritating.

To Balbina, I'm _strong_. Today, a member of our alliance just might die, a-and it just might be me. But in the end, at least I'll be me as I die. In the end, at least I'll be _strong_.

Just like I said on the train ride here. I may end up dead in a few hours, but that doesn't mean I'll let them break me. That doesn't mean I'll let them take away my shine.

Because I'm strong. I might not be able to fight, or survive, or even stand up straight as the gong goes off in the Arena—but as I die, it'll be with the satisfaction of knowing that I died as myself, that I didn't let the pressures of the world turn me into someone I'm not.

As Balbina goes off to wipe away her tears and re-apply her makeup, I head off to my own bathroom to take a shower—my _last _shower. I want to stay in here for as long as humanly possible, the water rushing down my body and dripping from my hair, but I don't want to make Balbina worry as well. So I quickly get out and wrap a towel around my waist, and then I start brushing my teeth. _The last time you'll ever brush your teeth, Iris._

As I walk back into my room, I see a familiar black and red uniform on my bed, the same one I've worn every day for training. I thought that I'd finally be able to wear one of the many different clothes in my drawers, but of course, the Capitol won't let me do what I want. Even when I'm just hours away from…

I shake away the thought, swiftly putting on the fitted uniform. As I look in the mirror, I stare at the girl in front of me. Faded brown hair. Perfectly clear skin. A skinny, small body. This is the girl that's going into the Arena; a girl with brown eyes that can still tear up, veins that can still carry blood, organs that can still keep me alive.

Isn't it almost amazing? In just a matter of hours, my organs will be useless, my veins will be dead, my big brown eyes will be lifeless. The girl I am now will be nothing. My thoughts will be nothing. I will be _nothing_ except a fallen tribute in the Fifth Hunger Games.

And just like that, my family comes to mind. My mom, so caring and loving. My dad, so sensible and honest. My sister, so hateful and arrogant. All of them will remember the little girl that hummed when things were looking down, that smiled when things were almost hopeless. Will they remember me by my body laying lifeless on the ground? Will they remember me by my teary eyes during the interviews?

_I don't want them to remember me in that light. _Standing up a bit straighter, I try to force a smile on my face—but there's too much sadness showing. I shake my head and try again, and again, and again—but no matter what I do, the cracks in my facade are too noticeable. How is something that was so easy for me be so hard to do right now?

_You said that you wouldn't let them break you, Iris. You said that you wouldn't let them take away your shine. If you can't do it for yourself, then at least do it for your friends and family. Do it for Balbina, Tet, Calla and Daniel. Do it for them!_

"Do it for them..." I take a deep breath, letting out all of my fears and frustrations. And then, I smile. It's not perfect. It's not the best smile I've ever given. But... But it's almost sincere. For once, I feel like the little girl from back home. Hopeful, idealistic, _happy_.

I might not be able to win the Hunger Games, but at least I've won one battle. I didn't let the Capitol change me. I didn't let the Capitol win.

And dead or not, that still makes me a Victor. Maybe not to them, but to _myself_. I finally realize just how important that is, doing things for _myself_.

* * *

**Calla Mallow, 17;**

**District Seven Female.**

"Today's the day," Tacita mumbles in that usual deadpan way. Sipping on a spoon of soup, she looks up at Daniel and I. "I take it that you both know what you're going to do in the Arena. Well, I _hope_ you two know, considering your choice of allies."

The sudden mention of the Games force me to stiffen. It was quiet earlier, the sounds of kitchen utensils distracting me from the upcoming event—but I guess Tacita's tired of the stalling. Because in the end, that's all I'm doing. Forcing myself to ignore the dire situation I'm about to be placed in.

I'm terrified. Utterly terrified of what could happen today, during the Bloodbath. And not only for me, but for Iris and Tet. What if... What if something happens to them? It's not unusual for the younger kids to fall first. If I have to actually _watch_ one of them die...

I'm not cut out for the Games. I'm too altruistic, too caring, too _nice_. But I _refuse_ to let anyone hurt my two younger allies. No matter what happens in a few hours, Iris and Tet will _not_ die.

_But is it that simple, Calla? You of all people should know that not everything goes according to plan in life. _

"I feel that we can take care of ourselves," Daniel replies smoothly, taking a sip of orange juice. "And Tet and Iris are definitely not useless, Tacita. It's underestimation like that which leads to defeat."

"Shut up with the pretentious bullshit," Sylvan grumbles, suddenly walking in the room. Daniel smiles at the Victor, despite the fact that he's made it clear a thousand and one times how much my District Partner apparently irritates him.

Before this entire fiasco, I almost idolized the man. Despite the odds, he came back to District Seven as our first Victor, and he wasn't sucking up to the Capitol either. He was supposed to lead us all to another rebellion—and this time, we were going to win.

Now that I've spent a week under the same roof as him, though, I realize that Sylvan Barnes just doesn't care anymore. Not about the Capitol, nor about District Seven. And he certainly doesn't care about Daniel and I. We could drop dead right here and I doubt he'd so much as sigh.

Tacita sighs, wiping her hands as she stands up. "Late as always, Mr. Barnes. Honestly, have you given these two any amount of advice about what to do today?"

No, he hasn't. He knows he hasn't, but he just doesn't care. Honestly, if I didn't have Daniel to reassure me, or even Tacita to nag about everything, I'd be pretty hopeless right now.

"Nothing I say will be able to save them," Sylvan mumbles, ushering an Avox over with his hand. Quickly, he orders the red assistant to get him some herbal tea, before looking back at us. "I can write a whole damn book and have them read the entire thing, but will that stop a knife from shoving into their stomachs?"

I look down at my unfinished food, suddenly not so hungry anymore. Because he's right. Help would definitely reassure me, but that's all it'd be able to do. In the Arena, his help won't have me win a fight. In the Arena...I could die, and there's nothing he could do to prevent that.

Trembling, I bite my lip, forcing the tears from pooling in my eyes. Today's the start of the Hunger Games. I could die. Oh my God, I could seriously _die_. Before now, the Games were always quite a bit away, and I could ignore it and be that carefree girl from Seven. That's what I did back home, anyway. I resented the Hunger Games, but I was never exactly pissed at it because there was always something else to occupy my attention.

But I can't... I just can't ignore it anymore…

A knife in my stomach. A sword through my chest. An axe in my head. So many possibilities, so many different ways to die—and I'm _scared_. I may be seventeen-years-old, but that does _not _mean I am ready to fight to the death. I may have experience with an axe, but that does _not _mean I can actually bring myself to end a life.

_I could seriously die today._

That thought bulges in the forefront of my mind, taking away my attention from everything else. Before now, I tried to distance myself from the possibility of death. During training, I would swing my axe around to escape the crushing despair of reality, if just for a few minutes. Even during my interview, all I did was talk about my friends and family, never once letting the idea of the Games attack my brain.

I talked with Daniel; I talked with Tacita; I even tried to talk to Sylvan. Anything to forget about the one thing that would destroy me, mentally if not physically. And when the topic of the Hunger Games _did_ come up, the only thing I thought about was helping my two younger allies. I always thought...that as long as I kept them safe for however long I can, everything would be okay.

Never once did I allow myself to think, even for a moment, that maybe _I _was the one who needed keeping safe. That maybe _I _was the one in danger. That maybe… That maybe _I_ could die.

_And you can die. You're not invincible. You're not ruthless. And you can't be. You won't be._

I blink back to reality, just as Tacita glances at the huge clock on the wall. "Look at the time," she says, sighing a little as she stands up. "It's time to go up to the roof. Calla, Daniel, Sylvan. Let's go."

I stand up, a wave of emotions running throughout my body. _Time to go. It's really time to go. After five days, it's actually time to...go. The question is, will I be coming back?_

Sylvan seems to read my mind, because he looks straight at me and rolls his eyes. "Take one good look," he mumbles. "Because don't expect to be back here anytime soon."

Daniel seems unaffected, but the words seems to stab right through me. Nonetheless, we all walk straight into the elevator, and I morph my face into a look of determination. I may be kind. I may not be quite cut out for this. But if I'm anything, I'm stubborn—and just like during the Reapings, I won't let myself curl into a ball and cry. No matter how much I want to, I won't. Taking one last look at the floor—chandeliers and paintings and everything else I've come to associate with the Capitol—I take a deep breath and watch as the doors close.

And just like that, there's no more time to ignore or push things away. There's no more time for carelessly laughing. It's time I become a tribute, no matter how much I want to scream and throw up.

The ride to the roof is a short one. Before I know it, we're already at our destination, and the doors open. Instantly, the wind whips at my face, and I have to squint my eyes to see the two massive hovercrafts right in front of me. There are Peacekeepers lined up, probably to stop a suicide attempt at jumping off the roof, and there are other tributes situated around, talking to their various Escorts. Some tributes, like the girl from Twelve, have tears in their eyes. Some of them, like the boy from Ten, look frigid in fear. And then there's the little girl from Eleven, who still looks emotionless even now.

Our group walks into the mix, the wind still whirling around because of the hovercrafts. I turn around, suddenly feeling very rigid and afraid. When I get into that hovercraft, I know it'll all be over for me. Before I can cry out in despair, though, Daniel leans in...and kisses me right on me cheek.

I flinch, stepping back a little. "What the heck?" I blurt out, feeling my face turn hot. "Is this… Is this really the time?"

"Hey." He chuckles. "That was just my way of telling you that everything is going to be alright."

_No,_ I think, not finding it in myself to laugh and shove his shoulder. I just frown, uncharacteristically. _Everything isn't going to be alright._

Once upon a time, I may have wanted to believe that. I had a family, we were surviving—and despite the Capitol's dirty ways, we were happy. As long as we had each other. But the thing was, we weren't going to always have each other. When I was just ten years old, my mother died trying to give birth to what would've been her seventh child. We were heartbroken—but we could still survive, right? Wrong. Just a single year later, when the Rebellion first began, I lost my father to the war.

The Capitol had killed him. Not only did they have control over my entire district, but they could alter my very _life _whenever they pleased. Because of my father's death, the entire family was orphaned. My brother Yew and I got a job as lumberjacks to make sure our family didn't go hungry, while my other brother Balsa went out to fight in the Rebellion. The Rebellion that was soon _lost_, and resulted in my brother actually losing an _arm_.

Without any parents and five siblings to take care of, you can guess that my life after that was very hectic. No time for relaxation. No time for hobbies. I worked day in night in the forest, working hard to provide for my remaining family. And y'know, it was difficult, but maybe everything _would _have been alright. Maybe there _would _have been a happy ending.

But not anymore. Because now that I'm going to be competing in the Fifth Annual Hunger Games, the road ahead is only going to be filled with pain and suffering.

"_Tributes_," comes a mechanical voice, coming from one of the hovercrafts. "_We will soon be departing. All tributes are ordered to board the craft, District Partners separated._"

Once again, my blood runs cold. I'm actually going inside the Games. Will I be able to seriously win? _You have to, Calla, for your family back home. _But the other tributes have families, just like me. What makes me any more important than them? _But what makes you any less?_

I bid Daniel farewell, until we eventually meet in the Arena. He goes off to one of the hovercrafts, and I go off to mine. Behind me, Tacita and Sylvan both look on, their faces stony. Do they actually think I'll be coming back? Can they actually be silently urging me on to victory?

I hope so. Because while I desperately want to save Iris and Tet, I want to save myself equally as much. And though I'm not a vicious killer, though I'm not captivating enough to acquire sponsors, I'm not foreign to the idea of working hard. I'm not foreign to the idea of doing anything and everything to get back to my family.

Because they need me.

The odds are never in my favor—but for once, I just wish that everything will turn out alright, that I'll get one happy ending.

* * *

**Ricky Laris, 18;**

**District Ten Male.**

"Give me your arm."

I look up at the Capitol lady quizzically. She's adorned in a full white outfit with a mask over her nose and mouth, like she's some sort of doctor. In her hand, though, is a fairly large syringe. Is she… Is she going to stick that inside of me?

I must take too long to move, because she seems to narrow her eyes. "Give me your arm," she repeats.

"O-Oh." I feel my face go hot as I stick my arm out. Quickly, she grabs it—and with the precision of a trained warrior, she sticks the needle straight into my vein. I wince at the sharp sting, but before I even have time to thank her or apologize or _whatever _I'm supposed to do, she walks off to the District Three girl sitting beside me.

I didn't even get a chance to ask why she was injecting me, or _what _she was even injecting me with. But in the end, I guess it doesn't matter. My mother always told me to never question adults, because they're always right and I'm always...wrong.

_But are they really always right? Is this alright, Ricky? Are the Hunger Games alright to you?_

No… No, the Games are most definitely _not _alright. I am literally being sent off to my death right now. Am I just supposed to sit here and go along with it? Would my mother and father really mind if I rebelled, even if it meant the death of their only son otherwise?

Even if they didn't mind, though, I don't have the guts to rebel anyway. I wouldn't necessarily call myself a coward...but it's hard to go against years and years of teaching and discipline. Just because I'm about to be in a fight to the death doesn't mean I'm just going to eagerly change myself.

"Are you seriously going to just inject me with some weird liquid without telling me what it is?" I hear someone say to my far right. I look to see what the commotion is, and I'm not exactly surprised when it's the redheaded girl from Eight. The moment I saw her chained up to her chariot, I instantly wrote her off as someone to look out for. "Just because I'm letting you drop me in an arena doesn't mean I'll just willingly become your test subject as well."

_Wow._ I stare in mild amazement as the Capitol lady explains that what they're injecting in us is a tracker, so that they don't lose us in the Arena. I'm not really focused on that, though; my attention is fully on Kaya Vause. _How can two people be total opposites like this?_

She seems like the type to backmouth and question everything, the type of sassy girl my mother wouldn't be able to stand. The very opposite of myself. Isn't it weird how two completely different people are being connected by one single thing? Before coming to the Capitol, I doubt I'd even be in the same _room _as this girl. I was never the outgoing type back in District Ten.

And now all of a sudden, I'm being forced to fight and kill people.

_This can't be right_. For once, I don't care what my mother says about adults. I don't care what my father says about respect. Kaya's attitude has sparked something inside me, something I've been repressing for as long as I can remember.

"This is wrong," I say out loud, the words just rolling out of my mouth. Until now, we've been riding in this hovercraft in near complete silence—so you can just guess at the number of eyes focused on me now. "This… We're being forced to kill each other. How can anyone justify this?"

To my left, the boy from Two snorts. "It's not justifiable," he says, smiling a little. "It just is. It's either you jump at the opportunity, or you crumble..."

"Shut up," Kaya suddenly grumbles, glaring at Kostos. Instantly, the tense atmosphere is a thousand times thicker. "I don't think he was asking someone like _you_. Your mind is probably twisted enough to think this is right."

Kostos snickers, hand over his mouth to keep from showing his teeth. That gesture is enough to end the small argument, though, because he doesn't say anything else and neither does Kaya. In the Arena, they'll have all the time in the world to settle their differences. Right now, it'd be polite to just let the rest of us wallow in our fears and anxieties.

The little rush of rebellion I felt just then has long vanished, and replacing it is a horrible sense of dread. The severity of my own words come right back to me. _In under an hour, I'll be in the Hunger Games. In under an hour, I could be dead. In under an hour, my entire alliance could be dead. _

It's almost tormenting, thinking about things like that. Call me pessimistic, I don't even care, but I seriously don't think I have what it takes to win the Games. Am I really able to kill? And if I am, can I really handle that emotional trauma? Besides, how am I supposed to win a fight when I can barely speak up for myself?

My eyes glance over to the little girl from Three, trembling in her seat. The girl from Seven is whispering reassurances to her, but I can see that it's hardly working. _It must be even worse for her, having to go through this at only twelve-years-old. This age range is totally unfair._

Everything about this is unfair. Kostos doesn't even look worried because he's undoubtedly trained. How are people like me, people who can barely hold a conversation, supposed to compete with that? And then there's my allies, Eion and Isabel, who were born and raised in District Twelve. Does the Capitol seriously expect for anyone in my alliance to win?

It makes me feel bad to think that I have no faith in myself nor my allies. It makes me want to cry, honestly. But luckily, I'm not the crying type, or my entire childhood would have been filled with tears.

I don't know how long we stay in the hovercraft, soaring through the air at speeds unknown. But after a while, I can feel the hovercraft slow down and come to a stop—and just like that, the tension levels in the room skyrocket. Nearly every tribute I exchange glances with has a panicked look on their face—because we're here, we're here, _the Games are almost here_.

One by one, we're each unbuckled and escorted by a Peacekeeper out of the craft. We've landed in some sort of warehouse. I guess the ceiling must have opened up, or else how would two giant hovercrafts get inside? Quickly, before I even have time to take in my surroundings, a group of Peacekeepers surround me and nudge me towards a hallway marked _D10 Male_. Even though the anxiety is almost choking me, I comply without a word, walking down the hallway away from the other tributes.

In the distance, I think I can hear someone crying.

We continue walking for a while. My entire body is trembling when we reach a room at the end of the trail, and a Peacekeeper opens it for me. Stupidly, I expect to somehow see the Arena, and close my eyes to somehow prolong the death penalty.

But it's not the Arena. When I open my eyes, it's my Head Stylist that greets me; Fabricius with his multi-colored eyes and terrifying grin. I freeze a little. Why is he here? Why have I been led to this room instead of the Arena? Before I can even say anything, though, the Peacekeepers practically shove me into the room and close the door behind me.

"Ricky…" My Stylist smiles, coming in close for a hug. I don't have the energy to hug back, too busy trembling, so I just awkwardly lean in as he continues to squeeze and pat my back. "Dear, you're so pale! You almost look like a ghost!"

_A ghost. Because I'm dead. I'm so, so, so dead…_

I nod, numbly. "Y-Yeah…"

"As gawky as ever, I see." Sighing, Fabricius releases me from the hug and stares into my eyes. When I look into his colored orbs, I don't see an adult that I should respect. I don't see a man with authority. I see an excited, delusional person with hideous fashion-wear.

I see a man who lives to see people like me tortured for the wrongs of the rebels.

I look around the room, taking in my surroundings. To my left is a small row of hooks, a black bag attached to one of them. To my right seems to be a bathroom, along with a refrigerator and a microwave. And then, at the back of the room is the most intimidating thing of all; a crystal clear tube that seems to lead up to nowhere.

_Oh, it leads up to somewhere, _the voice in my head tells me. _It leads up to your death._

"Well…" Fabricius quickly goes over to the black bag, ripping it off the hook. "We don't have much time. Fifteen minutes to be exact, so let's make this quick. You're a smart boy, so I'm sure you'll understand." He begins opening the bag, eyes furrowed as he talks and works at the same time. "The reason you're here right now is… Actually, there's a lot of reasons. To relieve yourself if you need to pee, to get one last meal before the Arena… But anyway, the main reason you're here is to put on your Arena outfit. You've seen the Games, right? You know that each tribute is matching as they go into the Arena."

_Oh._ I almost sigh as I realize that I'm going to have to take off my clothes in front of this man again. I've gotten use to it, at least, but it still doesn't help the giant blush I must have on my face. _You're about to die, Ricky, and you're seriously worrying about something meaningless like this?_

_I'm never going to change. _Or rather, I'm not going to live long enough _to_ change. Just fifteen more minutes of peace is all I have before my world explodes in a sea of blood and gore.

"Well then..." Fabricius takes out the first item, which is a black and white checkered shirt. I stare at it for a second, complexed. It looks a bit too formal to fight in, doesn't it? The second thing Fabricius takes out are blue overalls—and just like that, being from District Ten, I know exactly what the Arena Outfit is going to be. Lastly, Fabricius takes out two big boots and a yellow farm hat.

A farm hat. Because it's going to be a farm. "Th-The Arena is going to be a farm," I say aloud, turning a dark shade of red when my Stylist just stares at me. "I mean, I-I'm sorry for talking out of turn, b-but..."

"No, no, it's quite alright." Instead of yell at me like how my father would, Fabricius just grins. "A farm, eh? That's a wonderful prediction! Ooh, I can't wait until to actually see if you're right!"

_I can definitely wait. _Gulping, I start taking off my clothes as he yarbles on and on about how his entire family is having a "Bloodbath Party" and how he's sad to miss it. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be paying much attention to my body—so as fast as I can, I start putting on the outfit. Somehow, it fits my body perfectly, and even the hat is quite comfy. Sometimes, the Capitol just never ceases to amaze me.

"My guess is that the Arena will have multiple temperatures," Fabricius says as I struggle to push one of my feet in a boot. "The hat suggests that it will be really sunny, but it could also be used to see a bit better in the rain. If it's going to be hot, though, your attire definitely won't help against that... Hmm, I'm guessing really sunny but really windy."

"Oh." In these last moments of peace, I can't help but halfheartedly listen to him. Only thoughts of my friends and family peek through the cloudiness of my mind. All my life, I was disciplined severely by my mother and father. In my early childhood, it was as if I did and said every single thing wrong—and by the time I got older, I just stopped talking altogether. It was easier than being spanked for using improper language. It was easier than silently resenting them because of their strict ways.

Even though they were strict, though, they still loved me—and honestly, I still loved them. They're my _parents_. Because of them, though, I found it harder to associate with my peers at school, because what if I said or did something wrong? In the end, though, I managed to make a few friends—like Julian and Theodore.

Still, unlike teenagers my age, I didn't spend my time hanging out with friends and living the good life that London seems to always talk about. I spent most of my time working with my mother in the flower shop. It was... It was a good life. It wasn't the most exciting, but it was...

_Look at you. You're going to die soon, and you can't even reminisce over the good memories you've had. Isn't that just horrible?_

I must spend a lot of time thinking, because as soon as I snap out of my trance, a robotic voice sparks on the intercom. "_Tributes have sixty seconds to report to the launch pad._"

"Look at the time!" My Stylist says excitedly, ignoring my look of pure and utter terror. Quickly, he ushers me over to the clear tube at the back of the room—the tube that'll send me up to my death, slowly but surely.

_No..! _Just as I always do, I keep my protests on lockdown and walk inside the tube. _Please... I can't... I can't just die..! _I turn around, opening my mouth to plead and beg and cry—but nothing comes out. The only thing that does is a single tear, rolling down my face and dropping onto the metallic floor.

"Good luck, Ricky!" Fabricius says, jumping up and down in excitement. "May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

And just like that, the tube closes, cutting us off. For a moment, nothing moves, everything is quiet, and I fear that time has stopped and I'll be stuck in this thing forever. I've been afraid before, on multiple occasions—but this, _this_ is true terror.

In less than a minute, I'm going to be in the Fifth Annual Hunger Games. In less than a minute, I'm going to be forced into a life or death situation, with my morals conflicting against my self-preservation.

For a second, I wonder how my two allies, my two _friends, _Eion and Isabel are handling this.

But that second is gone far too quickly. Because with a silent _click_, the tube starts humming, and I'm being risen up, up, _up_...

_It's now or never, Ricky. Do you die here without any good memories to call your own? Or do you fight, kill, win and go back to make more memories? Better memories?_

I gulp, closing my eyes to calm my beating heart. _Now or never..._

* * *

_"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Fifth Annual Hunger Games __**Begin!**__"_

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, um, yeah. I'm always saying how much I hate my writing, so I'm just going to skip that part. I honestly don't know what to say? I feel like just yesterday I was obtaining submissions for this story. Never did I think I'd come this far, to be honest. I'm a fickle person, okay, and I don't think I have one finished story on this whole site. This story makes me feel so much more, though, mainly because I have an ending planned out unlike my other stories that would've probably went on and on and on... What am I saying again? Oh yeah. Just know that I'm really surprised that we've actually made it to the Games, and I can't wait to write more and more!**

**And yeah, I'll still be writing—but it's updating that's going to be the problem. As I said last chapter, I'm taking a vacation to a place with no internet connection. So while I can still write, it may be a while before I can actually get access to a computer and update. I may be able to go to my godmother's house once a week and update then, but you know, that's a maybe. We'll see! I'm actually leaving tomorrow, which is why this chapter might be a bit rushed because I really wanted to get it out tonight. **

* * *

**Also, I noticed the reviews really have dropped since the beginning. I honestly don't know if some of you are still reading. :/ Hopefully you all are. Since the Bloodbath is next chapter, though, I'd advise sucking up to me one last time! Don't want your tribute to fall off their pedestal or something. ;)**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**Any Bloodbath death predictions? Any tributes you think will gain a kill in the Bloodbath? And also, any Arena predictions?**_

* * *

**Well, that's it from me! I'm extremely happy to start the Games, if not a bit nervous. Next chapter will begin the deaths...and I've kinda grown attached. So yeah, a lot nervous xD See you all next time!**

**And once again, a review just might save your tribute! :P**

**Bai!**


	17. Bloodbath

**Bloodbath**.

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Zander Engres, 17;**

**District Eight Male.**

_It's showtime. _

Unlike the irrelevant tributes who seem intent on figuring out the Arena, looking around in fear and surprise, I keep my sights on the golden Cornucopia in front of me. I can't let my attention waver; Father would be extremely disappointed in me if I made reckless mistakes during a time like this.

Suddenly, the holographic numbers appear in the air above the Cornucopia, counting down from _60_—and that's when I realize we're not even outside. Momentarily ripping my attention away from the Cornucopia, I take in my surroundings. We're in some sort of building, the floor and walls and even the ceilings being made of wood. Multiple weapons are attached to the walls, like pitchforks and even some scythes. Barrels are plastered around the place, and there are even baskets of hay scattered around.

_Is this a..?_ Glancing at the girl from Ten, who's staring at the place with a knowing glint in her eyes, I know automatically that my prediction is proved correct. We're in some sort of barn. It explains the clothes, at least.

I shake my head, looking back at the timer. _37 seconds_. I take a deep breath, letting loose all the anxious emotions I feel. Honestly, I'm terrified. This entire fiasco has terrified me to no end—but the thing is, I'm not going to let my fears show.

I remember my father's last words to me, the things he said to calm me down during the Goodbyes. "_Don't lose focus on your goal_," he said. "_I've raised you better than to die in these idiotic Games._"

And he's right. There's no way I'm going to meet my maker in this place. I'm the only one here deserving enough to win the Hunger Games. And nobody is going to stop me. Nobody is going to ever stop me from reaching my goals.

_20 seconds..._

Winning is the main goal, but obviously, there are a few side goals that need to be accomplished. I take a glance to my left, searching for my redheaded District Partner. Kaya, the girl who refused to ally with me, only to find a pack of weaklings. Right now, adorned in her ridiculous Arena Outfit, she's staring ahead in pure concentration.

_Poor girl._ I clench my fists, feeling the rage wash through my body, enveloping all my senses in a shade of red. She's going to die. I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill, kill, _kill_ her!

I stare back at the Cornucopia, ignoring the sniffs of the boy from Five and the girl from Twelve. They're irrelevant. All I need to focus on is getting a weapon and killing Kaya Vause, that wretched bitch. And maybe even her allies, if she doesn't satisfy me enough.

_5 seconds..._

The golden horn is packed with weapons of all kinds—but right there, mainly to my right, are my signature weapons. The double scimitars. There are backpacks on the ground around the Cornucopia, but that weapon is the only thing I'll need right now.

_4 seconds..._

The holographic numbers have turned a dark shade of red, signifying the fact that the time is about to come. The moment of truth.

_3 seconds..._

_2 seconds..._

I bend my knees, ready to leap off this pedestal and make a mad dash for the weapons. This is my time to shine. My time to show my father that I _am_ worthy of his love, that I _am_ worthy of his attention. Time to show him that I'm _not_ a pointless, waste of air.

_But is he even watching right now?_

The gong rings. Momentarily distracted by my thoughts, I hesitate—and that's all it takes for me to trip on the edge of the pedestal and fall flat on my face. _DAMN IT!_ I quickly scramble to my feet, ignoring the pain, and rush to the left. All around me, the tributes are dashing to the Cornucopia. Some of them, like the girl and boy from Two, are already deep inside, searching for their weapon of choice. Some of them, like the girl from Six, already have a bag in their hands and are searching for their allies. And there are even some who seem to skip the Bloodbath altogether, like the pair from Twelve and the boy from Ten.

Cowards. It doesn't matter anyway. They're going to die and I'm going to win.

I make it over to my double blades without any incident—but suddenly, the girl from District Nine cuts ahead and grabs one of them. _NO!_ Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I charge her from behind, shoving her straight to the floor. She yells in surprise, dropping my weapon—but before I can take it, she grabs it again and slices at me. I barely manage to dodge.

"Get away from me!" She screams, her eyes narrowed. Why is she not submitting to me?!

"GIVE ME BACK MY WEAPON!" I snarl, picking up the other blade from the floor. In the background, I can already hear the sound of metal grinding on metal. She's wasting my time... "I'll kill you! Give it to me or I'll kill you!"

But suddenly, in the corner of my eye, I see the girl from Ten rushing over here. In her hands is some sort of machete. What does she want? Wait, they're allies, aren't they? Damn... I don't have the time to kill both of them!

I've already wasted enough time. Sending the girl from Nine one last look of pure hate, I grip the weapon I have and run away. I'll kill her later. But right now...

I search for my District Partner through the pandemonium that's going on in this barn. There's too many bodies moving around, though—too much fighting and too much noise. How am I going to find her?!

But suddenly, something else catches my attention. The girl from District Three has a large bag in her hand, searching desperately for her allies. She screams their names, tears in her eyes. I have no business with the girl, and I'm about to look away but it's like something keeps my gaze locked on her.

It all happens so fast. The boy from District One is suddenly charging at her, a weird-looking axe in his hands. I stare, eyes widened, as he brings back the weapon and swings it towards her head.

Iris screams. A pitched, terror-filled scream that freezes everyone and everything.

Everyone except Vesper, who slams the sharp end of the weapon in the girl's head. I stare, terrified and sick, as the axe lodges itself deep inside the girl's skull. Blood and even pieces of her brain shoot out—and even though the cannons don't boom until after the Bloodbath, I don't need to hear one to know that she's dead.

Vesper yanks his weapon out of her head, letting her fall and bleed all over the floor. Quickly, he snatches her backpack off the ground and runs out the big double barn doors. But seemingly chasing him is the younger girl's ally, the volunteer boy from Seven, a dark look on his face. And following him is the dead girl's other ally, the small boy from Three.

The first death of the Games, and it's happened right in front of me. To be honest, I don't know how to feel. I didn't... I mean, I've obviously seen death before, but not up close like this. Will taking a life be as easy as I thought?

I'm just about to ignore my quest for vengeance and run away while I still can—but suddenly, I see the boy from District Six standing right next to me, staring at the girl's corpse. Breno Harmont. I can practically see my father now, leaning into the TV, waiting for me to either make him proud or disappoint him. I can practically see the entirety of Panem, watching with bated breaths, knowing that I have a vendetta against Kaya and that this is the only real opportunity I'll have.

I can see Kaya, sneering at me when she realizes I punked out of killing her valuable ally. And while I _am_ terrified for my life right now, I never punk out of achieving the things I've sworn to do. Back in Eight, when my mother died in the war, my father was the only one left who I truly cared about. And yet, he always looked at me with narrowed eyes and barely spoke a word. I was irrelevant. And I didn't want to be irrelevant—not to him. Anyone but him.

Doing stunts like jumping off buildings and even getting in trouble with Peacekeepers were all just ways for me to garner his attention. I would put myself in life-threatening danger, all for him to look and acknowledge me. I would even cut myself, all down my arms and even on my face—but nothing would seem to work.

When I was Reaped, I was scared beyond belief. But now, I realize that this is the only chance I have to truly be important in my father's eyes. Becoming a Victor is the only way.

_And Victors kill._

Breno catches me looking at him in the corner of his eye, but it's far too late. I swiftly get behind the boy and bring my scimitar up to his neck. He stiffens, but does nothing more than gasp.

"You should've thought about your choice of alliances," I mumble, bringing it closer to his neck. "Don't move, or you'll be sorry."

"Just...kill me already."

"And where's the fun in that?" The rage is back. The feeling of losing control. I smile, realizing that my plan is going to work and Kaya is going to pay for not listening to me. "No, we're going to have a little show."

Just as the words come out of my mouth, I see both Ula and Caio staring at us from afar. Both of them looked frightened and on edge, but almost for two completely different reasons. I still don't see Kaya, but whatever, Breno's corpse will be enough of a warning.

"Make sure to tell that redheaded bitch just who did this!" I yell, grinning now. They don't move—but even if they did, nothing would change. I press the blade right against Breno's throat and slice. It's like I can _feel_ the skin falling apart, like I can _feel_ the blood gushing out of his body.

And I like it. Killing isn't terrifying. It's exciting. For the first time in forever, I finally feel like I'm complete control. I'm in control of whoever lives and whoever dies.

I let Breno fall to the floor, and the first thing he does is clutch his neck, trying to stop the bleeding. It doesn't work, though. In a matter of seconds, his eyes seem to dull, and his gargling comes to a stop. I stare at him in pity, but shake my head and move on after a moment. If only he hadn't allied with that stupid girl. This is all her fault.

_But whatever!_ I grab a stray backpack off the ground, laughing as I rush to the door. I can barely see what's outside because of the sun, and I _hate_ the sun—but staying inside means death, and I don't want to die just yet. _I just want to kill!_

And that's exactly what I'm going to do. The Games may have just begun, but that doesn't mean a single thing to me. I'm going to have as much fun as I can, by killing all of Kaya's allies and then killing her herself.

Nothing will be able to stop me.

* * *

**Meeko Brighton, 14;**

**District Eleven Female.**

During the fifteen minutes I had during Launch, I prayed.

In the Capitol, I don't even think they believe in religion. How could they? If their God is alright with sending twenty kids to their death every year, there's something really wrong. In District Eleven, though, religion hasn't completely vanished. My people use their faith to get through the Hunger Games each year. My people use their faith to get through life in general.

Living in Eleven is basically a Hunger Games in itself.

But anyway, while the clock ticked away my seconds of peace, I got on my knees and began praying. I prayed for the survival of both Koda and I. I prayed for forgiveness—because I was aware of what the other tributes were going to do, of what I had to do. I prayed for the families of the other tributes, knowing that every single district would be mourning for months to come.

I even prayed for a happy ending. Nobody from Eleven has ever won the Games before, despite our prayers, but I want to be the first. I know it's unlikely. I know it's very well impossible. And yet, I can't help but have a small bit of faith.

It's that bit of faith that keeps me sane right now. Because I _can't find Koda._

As soon as the gong rang, I jumped off my pedestal and tried to get near him, but he was running to the Cornucopia far too fast for me to match. Not to mention the boy from Four nearly knocked me over, ruining my concentration and making me lose sight of my District Partner.

I haven't even been able to get a weapon or a backpack or anything. All I can think about is how Koda could just as easily be like Iris Logan from Three, dead with a gaping gash in his head. Or even like Breno Harmont from Six, his throat slit open. I've had the unsatisfaction of watching both deaths—and now, my peaceful persona has cracked. My calm state of mind is in pieces.

The voice in my head is legitimately _screaming_ at me to just leave this barn before my body is sprawled across this wooden floor next.

_It would be so easy. I could pick up a backpack, go through that door—and I'll be free from the chaos. I'll be alive. _

I'm intelligent. I know what'll happen to me if I stay too long. I know what the wisest choice of action would be. But just because I'm smart, just because I _know_, that doesn't mean I have a strong enough conscious to do it. That doesn't mean my emotions are stone-cold.

Because they're not. Just because I don't talk, it doesn't mean I'm a hard-ass. If I were to leave Koda here, I'd never be able to forgive myself. Back in the Orphanage, he was my first real friend. He could've easily ignored the weird, quiet girl. He could've easily waved me off and hung out with his other friends.

But he didn't. And I'm not going to leave him. Childish he may be, Koda is my friend and I am not going to leave this horrible place without him.

Avoiding the path of the girl from Two, who has a grim scowl on her face, I round the Cornucopia. _Koda, where are you?!_ I don't know what I'd do if someone were to catch me, with no weapon and hardly any fight in my body, but I bring that thought to the back of my mind.

Or rather, I try to—but suddenly lunging at me in the corner of my eye is the black-haired girl from Five. Alexandra Fearn. In her hand is a large knife, and in half a second, she stabs at my neck. Without even thinking, I spin around to dodge her attack, my eyes widened and adrenaline pumping.

A piece of my black hair falls to the wooden floor.

"Don't resist," the girl says, her eyes narrowed. Clutching the weapon in her hand, she exhales. "You're dead anyway."

I don't say a word, just like I haven't for the past three years. My silence must look like submission to her, because Alexandra lunges at me again. I dodge to the left this time, near the Cornucopia, yet she follows. If she gets too close, I'm done for. But I don't want to die. _Oh my God, I don't want to die!_

My feet graze past a group of knives on the floor, and I barely have time to pick one of them up before she's swiping at my face. The knife cuts into my cheek, slicing a thin line of red—and it stings, it stings, it _stings..!_

My mind goes on autopilot. She stabs at my head again—but this time, I fall on my butt to dodge it. The change in position puts her off for a second, but that's all the time I need to lunge and stab the knife straight into her leg.

Alexandra screams, falling to the floor and kicking me away with her other foot. I don't even feel the kick to my face, too transfixed by the feeling of actually plunging that weapon into her flesh. It makes me sick. Looking at the blood coming out makes me sick. Being near this girl, the same age as me, makes me _sick_.

I'm not a viscous person. I'm not one to relish in the pain of another person. I'm...peaceful. _But that was definitely not very peaceful of you, Meeko. What would your dad say if he was still alive? What would your grandpa say?_

I get up and run away, ignoring her grunts and gasps of pain. She distracted me for far too long. My main reason of even going near her was to find Koda, but I still didn't see him. Suddenly, a horrifying thought crosses my mind. What if he's already gone? He... I know he wouldn't leave me, right? Not when I wouldn't even leave him...

The thought settles in the pit of my stomach—and all of a sudden, I don't hear anything around me. I don't see anything. I'm in the pitch black darkness of my mind, my heartbeat being the only noise. _He wouldn't..._

And that's when I see a shadow, deep in the Cornucopia. I'm just about to wave the shadow off as a reckless tribute...but the boy momentarily turns around, and Koda's big brown eyes are blinking right at me. No amount of words can describe the happiness, the relief I feel at having suddenly found him, safe and sound.

But he quickly turns back around, digging deep for something. I even see him toss aside a few knives. What could he possibly be looking for? I'm about to rush over and drag him out of there, but that's when I catch something else, in the corner of my eye. Another shadow, though much larger than Koda, and a...a...

"**_KODA!_**" Three years. I haven't used my voice for three entire years. Ever since my father was caught stealing and whipped to death, it was almost as if I couldn't even use my voice anymore. I _could_, I just didn't want to. There was no point, not if a great man like my dad could be killed for trying to feed me.

Now, though, there is no other option. If I don't speak, Terrance will stab my friend to death, and I just can't... _I just can't..!_

"**_KODA! RUN!_**" My voice is hoarse, and it's insanely painful to be speaking after all these years. But I don't care. Koda quickly turns around, staring at me quizzically, and a spark of hope catches in my chest. But that hope is quickly extinguished by Terrance Vallier of District Nine, as he shoves his knife straight into my friend's chest.

The pain, the agony Koda must feel is short, because Terrance pulls the knife out and my District Partner falls inside the Cornucopia, lifeless. Dead. _He's dead..._

Terrance looks up at me, the expression on his face nothing more than dull—and I turn around and run. I don't miss the fact that nearly everyone has left except the Pack, and that a single arrow could end my existence. But I don't care. _Let them shoot me_, I think, scooping up a backpack and continuing my run. _I failed. I didn't save him. _

And the sad thing is, there's a part inside my body that's almost relieved. With Koda dead, there's nobody I have to look out for except myself. And when the end rolls along, I won't have to worry myself on who's going to be the one to make it out.

_Because now, there's no-one else but me._ I grip the backpack, rushing towards the light outside the large door. I'm disgusted with myself, and I'm pretty sure I'm crying, but I keep running. _No matter what I have to do now, it's going to be me._

The Games have only begun, and I'm already a different girl than who I was in the Capitol.

I just don't know whether that'll benefit me, or destroy me from the inside-out.

* * *

**Kostos Sylett, 18;**

**District Two Male.**

Everyone's gone.

Without twenty other tributes inside, the barn looks a hundred times bigger, maybe even a bit ghostly. The scythes and pitchforks lining the wall are a bit intimidating, to be honest, and even the wooden barrels have a mystifying aura to them. Who knows just what they're filled with?

Probably poison or acid or something.

That'd be kinda awesome.

"What a failure," Echo suddenly says, pacing back and forth. Her boots make a clanking noise with each step on the pristine wooden floor. As she stops pacing and turns towards me, I can't help but stifle laughter as I get a good look at her in her farm outfit. "This is no time to be _giggling_, Kostos."

"And why not?" I turn away from my District Partner and start towards the Cornucopia, looking for something to eat or _something_ entertaining. "The Bloodbath is over. We can stop acting like stiff soldiers until tomorrow at least, right?" As I get closer to the golden horn, I notice a small trail of blood—but I completely ignore it, deciding to look for food elsewhere. Probably some dead body or something.

I can hear Echo getting more and more irate by the second. "The Bloodbath is not over. Oh no, don't you _dare_ say it's over."

I glance over my shoulder, eyebrows raised. What's her problem? Is the Arena getting to her already?

"Don't you understand?" She asks, her voice raising. "Don't _any_ of you understand?" With that, she catches the attention of both Terrance and Adeline, who have both been sorta ignoring my District Partner. The boy from Nine is deep inside the Cornucopia, a weird-looking sword in his hand, while Adeline is nearer to the girl from Three's corpse.

For a good few seconds, I can't help but stare at Iris' dead body, shivering. The gash in her head is almost painful to look at. I may have volunteered for this, but that doesn't mean death doesn't effect me.

Because it does. Maybe a bit less than the average person, but it _does_ still effect me. I _am_ still human. Back in District Two, I was always popular with the younger crowd, especially girls—so it wouldn't entirely be surprising if, in a different universe, I'd have interacted pleasantly with Iris. It's possible, in a different universe, she wouldn't be dead on the ground a few feet away.

_You're staring too much._ Putting back on my flippant attitude, I bring my attention back to Echo, shoving the girl from Three out of my mind. I can't... I can't focus on her. I volunteered for a reason. Getting rid of the void in my heart will always, _always_ be the first thing on my mind.

"We're called the Pack for a reason," Echo begins to explain. "We're like a pack of wolves, killing each and every tribute that stands in the Capitol's way. And for there to be two bodies on the floor, well, you can guess the Capitol isn't very satisfied."

Terrance suddenly speaks up. "Three. I killed the boy from Eleven. Left him in the Cornucopia."

I glance at the boy, who speaks about the death of that kid like it's nothing. _Because it's not supposed to be anything. Koda was going to die anyways, especially if you're going to win._ I nod to myself, taking a deep breath. All I need to is focus on the Games, not it's victims. Back in Two, I'd never kill a twelve-year-old boy—but I'm not in District Two right now. I'm in the Arena, on the track to victory.

I need to take a page from my father, keep a blank mind, and do what I'm supposed to do. It'll be just like usual; act the adventurous daredevil during the day, wallow in depression during the night. I'll have my time to mourn over these unfortunate kids.

I clap my hands together, ignoring whatever Echo was saying. "There! That's three kills! I'm sure the Capitol won't be too disappointed, right?"

"Considering Terrance was the only one in this alliance to earn himself a kill, I'm pretty sure they're disappointed." Echo's face suddenly goes red, matching the color of her hair. "I would've gotten that stupid bastard from One, but of course he had to distract me and run. The coward. And then that stupid girl from Eight, _ugh_, how dare she attack me?! Did she really think she stood a chance?!"

_Obviously, considering she still got away from you._ I know Echo is lethal; everyone does. But what's holding the girl back is her crazy arrogance. She believes the Outer-Districts to all be these cowering weaklings, dummies for her to cut up. The fact that they're actually fighting back is surprising for her.

I'll admit, seeing the boy from Seven suddenly attack me during the Bloodbath was surprising. And the fact that he could hold his own was even more-so. The boy deserved at least a _9_ for his training score. If not for his ally's death, resulting in him running away, I honestly don't know what would've happened.

And I'll admit, seeing two people die really distracted me. I know I'm skilled. I'm skilled enough to kill more than half of these tributes, if not all of them. But my one weakness is that I'm still human—and I don't care who they are, _nobody_ is going to go unaffected by actually seeing a dead body in crystal clear clarity.

I begin to ignore Echo's rant, gazing over towards Adeline. In the Capitol, she would've said over a hundred words by now. But looking at the girl now, all I can see is her spirit slowly but surely leaving her body. Adeline didn't volunteer to be here. She's taking this a lot worse than anyone in this alliance.

And just think. In a week, she'll be dead. Catching me staring, Adeline manages a small smile. Maybe you shouldn't have volunteered for this, Kostos.

But this is the only thing I have left. I've searched District Two up and down, done more things than anyone in Panem can say they've done—and yet, I constantly feel lost, insecure, incomplete. I just... I just don't want to feel that pain anymore. I don't want to feel like someone who can easily be kicked to the curb. I don't want to be depressed anymore, living a facade every single day just to mentally beat myself up every night.

The Hunger Games is the only thing I haven't done. I can't fail. I can't. I need to be the Victor of the Fifth Hunger Games, to fill this damn void in my stupid heart.

From now on, there's no more time to be joking around. Echo looks at me, expecting me to say something sarcastic—but I refrain. It's time to play the game. And win.

My District Partner takes us all in—Terrance, boring but competent; Adeline, physically and mentally fragile; and me, suddenly serious—before sighing. "I honestly don't know what I'm doing with you three," she says, walking past me and to the Cornucopia. But suddenly, her eyes find the trail of blood, and a dark look graces her features.

I realize just what's going on when, suddenly, the girl from District Five jumps out of the shadows and attacks Echo. _What—?_ Everything seems to happen so, so fast. Echo quickly bats Alexandra off of her and to the ground. The girl from Five, realizing that her surprise-attack failed, tries to scramble to her feet—but it's not hard to miss the blood dripping from her bandaged leg. She's crippled.

And that's going to be the death of her.

"You seriously thought..." Echo raises her rapier, eyes narrowed. In the background, Adeline seems to be choking back tears. Alexandra, in contrast, has a terrified glare on her face. It seems to say one thing: _hurry it up._

The sword goes down so fast, I barely see it move. One second, Echo has it raised in silent pride, and then next, it's impaled straight into the fourteen-year-old girl's chest. Alexandra Fearn of District Five is killed on impact.

I look away, not wanting to see another kid's dead body. After that, it's quiet. The only sounds are Adeline's quiet sobs as she stares straight at Alexandra's corpse, a bloodied hole in her heart. _Almost like your heart, huh?_ I shove that thought away. I don't need to think things like that, not when emotions are running high enough as it is.

"Well then," Echo starts, a chuckle in her voice. She's not smiling, but the pride in her eyes say enough. "The Bloodbath was still pathetic, but as long as I attained a kill, I guess I can ignore it."

In the corner of my eye, I can see Terrance roll his eyes, clearly unaffected by what just happened. Adeline is wiping her face with her hands, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out loud—but thankfully, Echo seems content enough not to scream at her for showing weakness. For now. I just hope the girl from One gets better quickly, because I don't see my District Partner putting up with much more tears.

_Today's already been a long day,_ I think, turning around and looking in the Cornucopia for something to eat. _But thankfully, it's over. The Bloodbath is over._

Or that's what I think. Suddenly, I hear rapid footsteps, coming from my right. I quickly turn around, grabbing my bow and arrow, intent on stopping anyone who thinks now would be a good time to attack us. Because I'm tired. I just want to peel off this carefree facade and wallow in my misery.

But it's nobody trying to attack us. My eyes settle on the girl from Seven, running out of the Cornucopia and towards the door, two backpacks across her shoulders. Why is everyone suddenly deciding to hide in the Cornucopia?

"Shoot her!" Echo suddenly yells—and I realize a second later that she's yelling at me. "If you let her get away, Kostos, you're _out!_"

I don't even bother taking her words to heart. Echo's arrogant, but she's not stupid. My training score of _10_ is enough to solidify me a strong member of this team. _But what about the Capitol? If you let this girl go, gaining not a single kill during the Bloodbath, your training score will be meaningless to them. You'll be a nobody. Somebody to kick straight to the curb._

Not only will I feel insufficient about myself, but even they'll see me as a nobody. I don't think I can handle that.

I pick up an arrow and nock it, aiming straight for the girl's chest. She's moving fast, her face mixed with determination and fear—but I've hit enough moving targets to know how to bring her down. I take a second to breathe, knowing that this'll be my one and only chance to prove myself, before releasing my hold and letting the arrow fly through the air.

Calla Mallow is a few feet from the door, a few feet from escaping—but my arrow tears straight through her back and out her stomach. The gasp of pain that comes out her mouth reverberates throughout the barn, bouncing around the room until it hits my brain. And just like that, she falls to the floor, a pool of blood around her, _dead_.

My first kill. I know, as soon as I drop my bow to the ground, that I'll never feel pride in taking another life. I know that I'll never truly find myself in this arena, that I'll never be happy. Calla's last breath will haunt me for as long as I live.

But trying to fool my allies, the Capitol, and maybe even myself, I grin. "Are you happy now, Madam Woods? Five dead kids all around."

_It might as well be six,_ I think, struggling to maintain my charisma. _Because I'm already dead._

* * *

**Iris Logan, 24th: The Girl With The Knives, This girl was a sweetheart. She might have been stereotypical for a twelve-year-old girl, but I'm really glad I got a tribute like her because she was truly a selfless person and every SYOT needs someone as wonderful as Iris. I had fun slowly forcing her to mature in the Capitol, because a lot of SYOT writers just wave the young children away as naive and childish bloodbaths—and while they may not survive as long as the older ones, I don't feel that most human-beings can stay naive and childish in a situation like this. She was a joy, okay, and it's sad to see her go.**

**Breno Harmont, 23rd: Cloe, ehehe, I just find it funny how you created Breno because you thought Caio wasn't good enough. When, in all honesty, I think Caio was probably an even better tribute than Breno. He's not a Bloodbath, at least. (Oh goodness, I probably sound really inconsiderate, but we're friends and you still have Caio so you probably shouldn't care xD) But yeah, Breno was one of those normal tributes that every single story needs. He did things in his own little way, didn't let people fool him, and the war had hardened him—but he still had his insecurities, and that was fun to write. While Breno could have definitely passed as a loner, I liked the thought of him being in an alliance, especially the one he was in. Unfortunately, he did grow into a background character, and the only plot I could find for him was to die by Zander's hands. Which kinda sucks. I'll miss him!**

**Koda Samuels, 22nd: Obviously Entei, While some reviewers didn't like the fact that Koda volunteered for someone literally six years older, I thought it was actually pretty neat and really endearing of him to care about his pretend brother like that. Unfortunately, Koda was another young tribute that had the stereotypical traits—but the thing with him was that you could never keep Koda down for too long. I couldn't make him depressed like Michael, and I couldn't suddenly make him more mature like Iris. He was going to have his sad moments as reality sunk it, but he was going to be himself through it all. Sadly, there was just no plot I could legitimately find for him. I think it's really sweet that he finally heard Meeko's voice before he died, though, if not insanely sad. I feel like he would've loved to have just one conversation with her. :') He will definitely be missed, though you still have Meeko so let's see how that works out!**

**Alexandra Fearn, 21st: JadeRavenstone, The idea of volunteering to save a family member is not unheard of, but for Ali, it really stuck with me. Her entire motivation was keeping her family alive. Underneath her abrasive persona, she was actually a really good person, if not a bit quiet. I feel like, if not for keeping her family safe, Ali would've definitely cracked under the pressure and not have been so willing to fight—which, in the end, was her downfall. The relationship she had with both her Escort and Michael was really a fun one to explore, as you can probably guess by how many times Drusas and her argued. And with Michael, using him as a reminder of her deceased friend was just a great way to develop. She could've overcame her demons and worked with Michael and Ceres, or she could've continued to push her District Partner away. In the end, she pushed him away—because realistically, introverted people can't just go against their reclusive nature so easily. Ali was definitely a favorite of mine, and it kills me to have to let her go. ;-;**

**Calla Mallow, 20th: ELMOlifebro, I am legit the most fickle person in this world, I swear. When I got her form, I fell in love with this girl. Seriously, I thought she was perfect, and that I was going to have a blast writing the interviews with her family. Basically, I'm saying she was going to be in the final 8. But as I wrote Calla, I unfortunately couldn't connect with her as well as I'd have liked. Not your fault, definitely, but more-so mine. I'm sorry about that. There were definitely ways I could've took Calla, like having her altruistic nature conflict with her self-preservation—but for that to happen, Iris would've needed to surivive, and that couldn't have happened because 3 Bloodbath deaths doesn't exactly look great as a new SYOT writer xD But yeah, what I'm saying is that Calla was great, but my incompetence to correctly write her character and definite plot issues is what stopped her survival. Just like the rest, she will be missed!**

* * *

**Author's Note: Maybe it's because I have no internet to procrastinate, but this chapter was done extremely fast. And for the first time in forever, I'm actually really satisfied by how this turned out. Maybe it was the surplus of wonderful reviews, but my confidence levels are off the roof! Let's just hope I don't get arrogant xD**

**But ANYWAY, this was the Bloodbath. Wow. For starters, I'd like to apologize to every single submitter who had a tribute die today. Obviously I loved the tribute, but I just didn't have anything more planned for them. I made it clear during obtaining submissions that your tribute was more than likely going to die. Please don't be angry at me. I understand if you don't want to review anymore, but hopefully you'll keep reading. :')**

**Secondly, MY FIRST BLOODBATH xD UGH I HATE THE FACT THAT TRIBUTES ARE GOING TO DIE NOW, BUT UGH I'M SO EXCITED FOR THE GAMES! Wish me luck, everyone! **

* * *

**_What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?_**

**_The tube brings you up to the Arena, and you realize with horror that the strongest Careers are on both sides of you. Do you still risk the Bloodbath, or do you skip it altogether and run away?_**

**_Also, any surprising Bloodbath deaths? Any surprising killers? Any tributes you thought would die that survived? Any tributes you wished had died instead?_**

* * *

**That's it for this chapter. Next chapter, we will get to see outside the barn and the rest of the Arena! I hope you're excited, because I'm excited!**

**The amount of reviews I got last chapter was...incredible. xD I know it's wistful thinking to wish I get that many reviews again, but I do hope the review count doesn't drop too dramatically. **

**Bai!**


	18. Day One

**Day One.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Isabel Abriani, 18;**

**District Twelve Female.**

_Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!_

With every boom of the cannon, ripping through my mind, I slowly realize that the Bloodbath is finally over. That only five souls have succumbed to the Capitol's horrible wishes. And for once, above all odds, District Twelve aren't one of those souls. We survived.

_I_ survived.

For a moment, as Ricky, Eion and I continue running through the large grasslands, I let myself believe that maybe I am a bit more competent than I believe. Maybe... Maybe I can do this after all.

But that moment of pride goes away far too quickly as I remember just how I survived the Bloodbath in the first place. I cracked. With the realization that thousands of cameras were aimed at me, that my fear was being broadcasted to the entirety of Panem, that I was going to _die_ in a few seconds and everyone in the world would see... I fell to my knees and started sobbing.

I thought that I would at least try. But when push comes to shove, I'm nothing. _Just like always. You should've known better than to think so wistfully, Isabel._

The only reason that I'm not dead right now is because Eion managed to drag me to my feet, call Ricky over, and lead us all out of that barn into safety. The only reason we survived the Bloodbath is because we skipped it altogether. Even though we're already surviving longer than every other tribute from Twelve, the Capitol won't even care because we ran away and proved just how cowardly we are.

No, how cowardly _I_ am.

And now, we don't have a single thing. Not a single bit of supplies to keep us alive longer than a few days, nor a weapon to defend ourselves from the other tributes. And it's all my fault.

I've condemned this alliance to death, all because of my uselessness.

I abruptly stop running, wrenching my hand away from Eion's strong grip. He quickly turns around, staring at me in confusion — and a few feet away, Ricky looks at us in jittery fear. He must understand exactly what I did to this alliance, and he's scared.

_I'm sorry._

"What's wrong?" Eion asks, his voice high. Gulping, he looks around at the expanse of grass around us. "We're not safe here. We need to find somewhere to hide. C-Come on."

For the first time in my life, I shake my head in disagreement, taking a few steps back. "I-I can't."

"Isabel—"

"I'm so pathetic..." The emotions I'm feeling inside make it hard to swallow. Guilt stabs the inside of my body, making it hard to do anything except hold back my tears. With the Bloodbath over, and only five deaths, I know the Capitol is itching for drama. Another breakdown from the Twelve girl wouldn't be anything new, but it'd be better than nothing. "I just... I couldn't even..."

"Isabel, please." The look in Eion's eyes shock me. They're wide, frantic, afraid. In the week that I've known this boy, I've seen him wear a multitude of expressions, but nothing like this. He's always been the fearless boy who defends me from Nerva, who cheers me up when I'm down, who reassures me when the walls of hopelessness close around me.

For my District Partner to look so scared, so terrified of death, it momentarily shocks me and forces me to rethink my decision. I was going to apologize for ruining his life and run away to go die in a ditch or something. I was going to free him from the burden of taking care of useless, inferior Isabel Abriani. I was, for once in my life, trying to do something that'd benefit another person.

Back in Twelve, I always felt indebted to my parents, who provided for me with their hearts and souls. I always wanted to be the one that people appreciated, you know? I didn't want to mooch off of people's benevolence. And yet, this entire week, that's all I've been doing — using Eion's wonderful personality to get me through my days. Even Ricky, with his shy little smiles, gave me something that I never got back home.

"I..." I was going to try and help my alliance by ridding myself from them. But looking in my District Partner's eyes, so full of fear and desperation, makes me feel that maybe doing that would just be even more selfish. I'd only be satisfying own conscious.

I think that, maybe, Eion actually needs me to keep himself situated. The thought almost makes me laugh. Nobody has ever really _needed_ me. But for once, I can at least try to be helpful. And not just try like I've been doing, with my paranoid thoughts holding me back — but actually, sincerely _try_.

I've already ruined our chances enough. What more damage can I get us into? _Enough damage to kill you all_. I ignore that voice in my head.

"...I have a plan." The words come out of my mouth as soft as a whisper. At this, Eion blinks in confusion, while Ricky steps forward a bit. The extra attention makes me extremely uncomfortable, especially knowing that the Capitol is most definitely latching on to every word, but I try to hold out for my allies. "We... We missed an opportunity to get supplies, but that doesn't mean there won't be other opportunities. There will. The Pack has definitely taken control of the Cornucopia, but they have to leave sooner or later. When they do, that's when we..."

I don't let the rest of the words come out of my mouth. I very rarely share my ideas, because when they're wrong, it's like a punch in the face to my already shattered confidence. My mind is already screaming at how my idea is bound to fail, at how I'm just going to get us all slaughtered — but somehow, I find the strength to ignore the voices in my head, if only for a little while.

I literally have nothing else to add to this alliance. If I don't let out my ideas, _any_ ideas, then I'm just going to curl into myself and be nothing but a vessel until a sharp blade takes away my soul.

"You want us to go back to the Cornucopia?" Eion questions, eyes wide in shock.

With him actually saying it, the idea makes my blood run cold. "N-Not yet!" I quickly shake my head. Going back there right after surviving the Bloodbath... No. I just can't see anything good coming out of that. "Not now, b-but it needs to be a bit later. The Pack is going to head back to the barn every night for the first few days. We need to wait until they get impatient enough to venture further..."

"What about until then?" That's Ricky who finally speaks up, his voice soft. He's not trembling like me, but his eyes are just as fearful. "What are we going to do until then?"

I bite my lip, looking around. Now that we aren't in that suffocating barn, I feel like I can finally breathe and take in my surroundings. The Arena is some sort of farm or plantation. The grass under our feet shine a sickly green, almost dream-like, and it seems to stretch on for miles and miles. No matter how far my eyes can search, all I can see are rolling hills and the occasional tree.

To my right, though, I think I can see a dot in the far distance. Some kind of building? To my left seems to be a lake or something, and I can barely make out the silhouettes of a few animals. Next to the lake — and actually one in front of us, I note — seems to be another building.

So we have a few options. The best choice of action would be to head to the lake. Something tells me that it's the only source of natural water in this place, and considering I ruined our chances of supplies, we're going to need water. But the other tributes are probably going to head there as well, and we don't have any weapons to protect ourselves from an attack. Besides, those animals could be mutts.

I know I sound paranoid right now, but I just don't want anything bad to happen to us. Eion and Ricky are my first real friends, and the fact that I screwed up during the Bloodbath is making me sick. If I don't help, and actually _help_, then I know I'll never be able to live with myself.

"We... We go to the lake." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Slowly, I point to the large body of water quite a distance from us. "Right there. We get water and try to run away before another group comes..."

I know it could be a trap. I know we could get ambushed. But I'd definitely rather die of another tribute than slowly fade away from dehydration. The former is quick, hopefully painless, and I'll just be another forgotten tribute — but the latter is long, drawn out, and the entire world will just sit and watch as I slowly take my last breaths.

I'm going to try my hardest to survive — which, as everyone now knows, isn't great at all — but if I had to choose a death, dehydration or starvation would be the very last thing I'd pick. The entire process would be agonizing, mainly because I'd be able to _feel_ the eyes of the audience burning a hole through my body.

Like right now. Eion and Ricky both stare at me, and then at each other, probably weighing the options in their own heads. _Of course they are. Nobody would just easily take advice from you._

"I think that's a good idea, Isabel."

I blink out of my depressing thoughts, staring straight into Eion's shaky smile. While it might not be the strongest smile, it's reassuring just to see a glimpse of his normal behavior. Besides, did he just agree with my plan?

"We won't survive long without water. I think, as long as we hurry and run away, we should definitely go to the lake," he says, and Ricky nods in agreement. "And when we survive long enough, we'll steal from the Cornucopia. It's genius, Isabel!"

"Y-Yeah," says Ricky now, nodding and managing a weak little smile. "You're really smart..."

A smile somehow worms it's way onto my features. "Thank you," I say.

For a moment, as we start the trek to the lake, a blossom of hope settles in the pit of my stomach. Maybe we can really do this? Maybe nothing bad will happen to us? Maybe the Capitol will realize that we're not totally hopeless and sponsor us anyway?

But all at once, that small bit of hope is completely drowned by the paranoid fear living deep inside of me. If the odds are in our favor, then we'll be able to quickly get water without any kind of deadly confrontation.

The thing is, the odds are never in our favor.

* * *

**London Tienna, 18;**

**District Ten Female.**

_Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!_

Backpack strung over my shoulder, machete gripped tightly in my hands, I continue running through the grassy fields. The cannons of the fallen tributes are lost in the wind, going through one of my ears and right out the other. All I can focus on is keeping up with my younger ally, Toren, who keeps a steady pace ahead of me.

That is, until the ground suddenly dips, and I fall flat on my face. _Ow!_

Despite the throbbing of my nose, though, a laugh quickly comes flying out of my throat. I sit up, laughing hysterically, hand over my mouth to maybe stifle the giggles. I must look like an idiot, tripping over myself with millions of people watching. And right after the Bloodbath, too!

"Are... Are you okay?" A few yards ahead of me, panting heavily, Toren raises a brow in confusion. "C-Come on. We need to keep running."

I shake my head, still snickering. "It's over, Toren. The Bloodbath's over. We survived!"

"Barely..." Like a negative glop of paint on my pure positive canvas, my ally frowns. The look in her eyes is enough to make me stop laughing — at least momentarily. By the way she's inching towards me, that weird weapon clenched in her hand, I can tell she's remembering the close call she had inside the barn.

That crazy boy from Eight, Zander. Who _screams_ like that during the Bloodbath? And why was he so intent on keeping both blades? Toren looked like a cornered puppy as he glowered over her — but I know more than anyone that she wasn't going to just submit to him. She has an edge to her that's almost drowned out by her compassion, but it's there.

Still, if I hadn't saw them and rushed over, who knows what that guy would've done? The thought of my ally dying so early on is a horrible one, but the thought of Toren actually taking a life instead is...a bit unsettling.

"Whatever happened in that barn doesn't matter." I stand up from my place on the ground, dusting down my overalls. "We're alive now," I continue, staring straight at my ally with a grin. "And that's all that matters. We're going to make it through this, Toren, no matter what."

She looks up at me, still frowning — and I realize, then, just how young she is. Is she supposed to be doing this? Is she supposed to be fighting for her life in a freaking outdoor arena?

I shake my head, ridding those thoughts away. Those are dangerous thoughts. Thinking is dangerous in general. As long as my mind is blank, I can get through this without losing my sanity, or even my humanity. But the moment I take time to think of the Capitol's malevolence, or of the severe situation we're in...

"What are we going to do now?" Toren asks, breaking away from my gaze and staring at the ground. "I... I think we should continue running. At least until we make it to better shelter than open plains..."

"Yeah." I quickly nod, letting my mind go blank. It's easier this way.

As we continue running through the grassy plains, though, I can't help but relate the Arena to my home. My friends and I would have the best of times running through the fields, pranking and partying and just being normal teenagers. And during the night, I'd lay on the ground and snuggle with Lucas, watching the stars flash across the night sky.

It was a beautiful life. The best life someone from Ten could ever get.

_And now you're in here, damned to kill or be killed. Are you seriously going to just smile like nothing's wrong, when everything is?_

My thoughts travel to the cannons from earlier. There were five of them, right? Five tributes, teenagers like me, slaughtered because of the Capitol's inhumane punishment. Was Ricky one of those deaths? What about that shameless guy from Seven who tried to flirt with me?

I won't know until tonight, when the deaths are showcased in the sky. Instead of watching the stars with my boyfriend, I'll be watching the deaths with my ally.

_How horrible._ I gulp, trying to clear my mind once again. _Stop it! You're not supposed to be like this, London. You're supposed to be dauntless and ready for anything, willing to do anything. You've got nothing to lose, remember?_

But now that I'm in the Arena, I realize that's not true at all. I have _so_ much to lose — my _life_ being the main thing. What if fate didn't bring me in to win? What if I was sent here to die?

"London."

I stop running, blinking, the sadness washing away and being replaced with my signature smile. "What is it?"

"Do you think we should stay here?" Toren asks, gesturing towards the giant tree besides us. It's magnificent, with leaves and branches as big as big as my entire body. How can the Capitol make something as crazy as this? The shade underneath the tree coupled with the wind makes for a pretty cool, comfortable place.

We've hit the jackpot!

"Um, duh!" I exclaim, plopping on the ground and placing my bag right beside me. I glance at the machete in my hand — and just like that, multiple scenarios of the Games previous to this one flash through my mind. Metal grinding against metal. Skin and muscle and bone being sliced open. Screams of pain and terror reverberating across the entire district.

But just like that, I smile and force the thoughts away for another day. Looking into Toren's wide, scared eyes, I motion for her to sit next to me. Thankfully, she does.

"So what are we going to do?" She asks, also placing her bag and weapon next to her. From this close, I can practically _feel_ her trembling — and quickly, I place my hand over hers.

"It's okay, Toren." I squeeze her hand in an attempt at reassuring her. Thankfully, she squeezes back, though the almost haunted look in her eyes doesn't waver. "Seriously, we're going to be alright. We both have supplies and we both have weapons. And hey, my Escort never let me go a day without reminding me how many sponsors I've got. It's _okay_. Who would dare take us on?"

"The Pack," she whispers, as if saying it loud enough will bring them towards us. Images of the four deadly tributes cross my mind, but I shake my head and continue smiling. Because I can't let myself be beaten by my own thoughts. I can't let myself fall under the paranoia and fear.

I'm one of the Capitol's favorite. They want me to win. _I_ want me to win. And I'm _going_ to win.

"And it's not even them, London." She looks straight at me now, and I can see her waging war inside her mind, trying to be strong and not break down. "I— I just saw a little girl get slaughtered with an axe! How am I supposed to cope with that image going through my mind over and over and over—?"

"You've never seen the Games before?" I interrupt, surprised. I mean, seeing that little girl from Three so violently killed was sickening...but worse deaths have happened in the Games before. I don't want to say that I'm used to blood and gore, but I _do_ know what to expect.

She shakes her head. "Before being Reaped, I didn't even think the Games were that much of a big thing. I thought it was just some threat. I saw it being broadcasted, yeah, but I would always try and ignore them..."

"Oh."

I don't know what to say to that, and she doesn't say anything else. So we simply sit in silence, watching the grass sway back and forth. It's peaceful. It's something I'd have loved back in Ten, and something I know Toren appreciates, being a nature-lover.

I close my eyes, relishing in the peace and silence. I wouldn't say I'm a peaceful nor silent girl — but after what we've been through today, this right here is nice.

...Until suddenly, Toren gasps and squeezes my hand _extremely_ hard. I open my eyes to ask her what could possibly be wrong now — but that's when I see the animal in front of me. Brown fur, wiry body, huge yellow eyes...

"Hi there!" It chirps.

We _scream_.

* * *

**Kaya Vause, 16;**

**District Eight Female.**

_Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!_

The sounds of cannon-fire reverberate throughout the entire Arena, the wind momentarily picking up and blowing my hair all over the place. I don't even try fixing it; instead, I simply place a hand over the top of my eyes, shielding my vision from the sun. I can barely see a thing!

Ula must notice how frustrated I look, because she glances at me and sighs. "You should've kept your hat. The Capitol gave it to us for a reason."

"Fuck the Capitol," I grumble, that hot feeling washing over my body again. I don't trust the Capitol enough to actually keep their little accessories. Why would they honestly try helping the very people they're forcing in here? If they actually wanted to help, they'd let us all go home and blow themselves up while they're at it.

I bristle, keeping a steady pace behind Caio as he leads us to whatever he deems a safe location. Safe is a subjunctive term, by the way. Nothing in here is safe. Nobody can be safe with a government like ours.

Honestly, I'm scared. I'm officially competing in the wretched Hunger Games, hundreds of cameras recording every single move I make, with millions of viewers waiting with bated breaths for my untimely demise. The thing is, if I focus on my anger, my hatred, my revenge plot...

I can forget how scared I am.

...I can forget about Breno.

_No_, I think, suddenly fighting back tears. _I can never forget about Breno._ That's exactly what the Capitol wants. All he'll be seen as from now on is a fallen tribute. It's sick. Disgusting. But I'll never forget about Breno Harmont and the awkward little smile he gave when I first met him. I'll never forget about Breno Harmont and his thirst for knowledge.

"Can we stop here?" I suddenly speak up, slowing down. My allies both stop running, turning around. The look in Caio's eyes is straight terrified, but Ula has a slightly more refined look. _Because she knows they're watching. She knows they're broadcasting everything we say and do._

I just can't find it in me to care about what they think anymore, though.

"I'm tired, okay? We've been through a lot, w-we've lost Breno, this sun is getting on my nerves and this wind is making my hair go everywhere..." I exhale, clenching the sword in my hands. "I just need some time to cope. I don't know how much longer I can..."

I stop myself right there. Because if I utter those words, the only option I'll have left is a downhill spiral. I can't lose hope during my first day in the Arena. How am I supposed to win and break the Capitol from the inside if I can't even survive the first day of the Hunger Games?

_It's because reality has finally sunk in_, the voice in my head tells me. _You're going to have to fight, kill, and survive from here on out. And if you're going to win, that means your two friends are going to have to die._

I shake that thought away, frowning. This isn't fair. This isn't right. _But when has life ever been fair or right?_

"Let's try to at least find some shelter before we stop, Kaya," Ula says, giving me a small smile. I bite my lip; I don't want to find shelter. I don't want to do anything. All I want to do is curl into a ball and wait for the inevitable to happen.

But if I do that, it's all over. For me, and for Panem in general. Ever since the Hunger Games have been instated, it's like all the rebels have disappeared. I feel like I'm the only shot Panem has at regaining a peace not forced with blood.

"Y-Yeah." I force myself to agree, and then I look towards the rather silent Caio. He looks so conflicted, even more-so than he did in the Capitol. "Well? Lead the way..."

His eyes harden with conviction. "Right."

And so we continue. None of us talk. There'd be nothing to say, really — and coming from someone like me, a talkative girl at heart, means something. The only sounds we make are the thumping of our feet on the ground as we run through the grassy fields. I focus on the thumping sounds. It momentarily distracts me from what I just had to go through, from what I saw, from what I'll have to soon deal with.

_Zander killed Breno._

The sudden thought makes me wince. I've been trying so hard to forget about it. I've been trying _so_ hard to force the fact out of my mind. But I can't. Not really. Zander, my District Partner, killed Breno, my ally.

During the Bloodbath, I had my sights on the sword now gripped tightly in my hands. And as soon as I found the sword, I started looking around for a backpack. I thought my allies could take care of themselves. I thought they'd be fine.

But I was wrong. After watching the little girl from Three brutally killed, I barely managed to catch my bearings fast enough when the girl from District Two attacked me. We fought. I know I'm good with a sword, but Echo had a deadly fury behind each of her strikes, something I just couldn't rely on at the moment.

Seeing the light come out of Iris' eyes did something to me. Before the Bloodbath, I thought that I wouldn't hesitate to shove my sword straight up Echo's ass. But I realized, then, that taking another person's life wasn't that simple. It would never be that simple.

I somehow managed to escape with my life.

But then, I saw him. Breno's dead body, his hands clenched tightly around his bleeding throat. I almost fell to my knees and cried, right then and there. But Ula and Caio came and dragged me out of that barn before I got myself killed. I questioned who it was. I was going to _kill_ them. I was going to shove aside my humanity, just this once, and get revenge on my fallen ally.

And that's when they told me it was Zander — and it was as if all the fight had come out of my body.

I close my eyes, forcing back the tears. _You're getting too emotional, Kaya. Stop it, Kaya. They're all watching you, Kaya._

I miss Breno... No, I miss the life I had before everything went to hell. My life with Auntie Kiera. Where she'd play with me and I'd sing to her. I miss being oblivious to the monstrosities this world has to offer. I miss not having to worry about if my friends are going to be alive the next time I see them, if _I'm_ going to be alive the next time they see _me_.

_Why did I have to grow up? Why am I being forced to fight or die? Why am I placing Panem's future on my shoulders?_

Every single question, I realize, is because of the Capitol. It's the _Capitol's_ fault that my auntie was killed. It's the _Capitol's_ fault that I'm in this Arena right now.

It'll be the _Capitol's_ own fucking fault when I take them all _down!_

A fire suddenly catches in the pits of my chest, burning away the indecisiveness and only leaving room for hot determination. I quickly wipe away my tears, opening my eyes and looking straight to the sky. It's _their_ fault that Breno is dead right now. It's ultimately _their_ fault that Zander killed him.

I'm not going to forgive my District Partner for what he did — but I can't bring myself to rain down revenge on him. I only have one goal in my mind, burning brightly at the top of my list. Win the Games and destroy the Capitol from the inside. It's the only thing I can focus on. If I don't let that guide me, I'll succumb to my emotions and that'll be it for Kaya Vause of District Eight.

Suddenly, Caio stops running. Ula stops right beside him, while I slow down and look up at the place he's brought us to. It's a house, with old brown paint splattered on the surface and some pieces of wood dangling off. Even though it's bright outside, just being near this creepy place gives me a bad feeling. No doubt a Gamemaker trap.

"Uh..." Caio turns to look at us, his eyes wide and almost fearful. Slowly, I can see that the Games are already taking effect on him, just like it's taking its effect on me. "I think this might be a good place to stay, but I'm not sure. It could be a trap, but it could also be good shelter..."

"The Capitol wouldn't be so quick to kill us with traps, now would they?" Ula says, smiling that controlled smile of hers. There's a bit of doubt in her eyes as she continues. "Besides, it's not like we're rebels or anything. We've done nothing wrong, and they still need us for entertainment."

I snort. Her statement couldn't be any less of a lie. Ula told me how much she despises the Capitol, and how they killed her mother. She's putting on this act so that they don't target us — but honestly, considering how sick and tired I already am, I couldn't care less what they think of my rebellious attitude. I'm not afraid to speak my mind, ergo the scars on my back.

"I don't think we should go in," I speak up, glancing at the house. "It's just eery, you know? If I'm going to die, it'd really piss me off for that old Gamemaker to have something to do with it."

Ula deadpans, that older sister mentality she has springing up. "We need _shelter_, Kaya. There could be food in there, or beds, or _something_ that'll help us. The Capitol wouldn't just put a house here for decoration."

"Exactly, they wouldn't!" I know I'm raising my voice now, but there is no way in _hell_ I'm going inside that place. I wouldn't even keep the hat they gave me, so why would I dare walk in this abandoned hell-hole?! "I know you're just trying to keep us safe, Ula, but it just doesn't sit right with me. There could be anything in there!"

There's silence for a moment, as both Ula and I stare at each other. She's taller than me, and no-doubt stronger than me. But if a fight did break out, I have my sword while she only has the bookbag slung across her shoulder. The odds are in my favor. _Not that I'm hoping, at all, it'll come to violence._

Suddenly, Ula looks toward Caio, who's just watching our heated debate. "What do you think?" She questions.

She could've asked the audience themselves and got a quicker answer. Caio is simply too indecisive about every little thing. After a long moment of thought, though, he gives his District Partner a reassuring smile.

"Sorry," he says, "but I think Kaya's right. There could be anything in there and we don't want to risk our lives so soon after the Bloodbath."

I refrain myself from grinning at my small victory. Caio is simply too careful to risk something like going in an abandoned house, while I'm just too mistrustful of the audience. Ula sighs in response to her District Partner, but quickly agrees with our decision. We're not going to risk the house. We're staying outside for the night.

"Alright then!" Ula exclaims, forcibly trying to be cheerful. The effect isn't the same as it was in the Capitol, with Breno, but it ends up bringing a smile to my face nonetheless. "Kaya, since you're the one with the sword, could you walk around and survey the land? Caio and I are going to try and sift through our supplies for something useful."

I nod. "Sure."

After tossing her my own backpack, I start walking away from my two allies and around the creepy, dilapidated house. The right side of the house looks almost as bad as the front, with claw marks and many other creepy things. A horrible stench enters my nose as I near the backyard...

I grip the sword in my hand, eyes hardened. I slow down, practically tip-toeing the rest of the way. Whatever it is, I'll cut it down. Gamemaker trap or not.

But the things I end up seeing aren't at _all_ what I was expecting. Behind the house is a little fence, almost four and a half feet tall. Inside are the most adorable looking animals, with shiny fur and an almost cartoonish look to them. A few pigs, two horses, some squirrels and rabbits. At the sight of them all, I jump back, staring with wide eyes. Are these some sort of silly muttations?

One of the animals seem to notice me — a cute-looking squirrel. It looks my way and..._smiles_. Fucking _smiles_. Animals don't smile. Despite how harmless these things look, my blood runs cold. This is scary. This... We need to leave. I don't know what to think of these things, but the words _trap_ and _death_ ring loud enough in my head to give me a hint.

Before I can turn around and run, though, the little squirrel points a small claw at me and speaks. "There's a girl!" It shrills. "Look, guys! There's a girl!"

I freeze. _Did it just..?_ It did.

And now they're all coming towards me.

* * *

**No Deaths**.

* * *

**Author's Note: Heeeeyyyy guuuuuuyyyyysssssssssss! It didn't take much long for this update to come out, right? I don't think so. So here you have it! Day One! The format for this SYOT will basically be Day and then Night, as there's not nearly enough things to show with just three POVs. Is that okay? I hope so~**

**I don't have much else to say right now. Reviews would be lovely, as you all know. Now that we're in the Arena, I'd really like to know you guys' thoughts and stuff. So yeah, I may be thirsty af, but I still do want a review!**

* * *

**_What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?_**

**_You've survived the Bloodbath! You find shelter, you've got food and water, and everything is going smoothly. But suddenly, an animal pops out of a tree and cheerfully starts talking to you! What do you do?_**

**_What are your thoughts on the Arena as of now? And what about the talking animals?_**

* * *

**I don't have much to say, shockingly. Um, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that you hit me up with a review! ^_^**

**Bai!**


	19. Night One

**Night One.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Vesper Quinn, 18;**

**District One Male.**

I lost them.

Tossing my bag on the floor, I groan and plop myself on the bed. My outfit sticks to my body with sweat, but I'm too tired to take it off. Besides, I don't want to give those horny Capitol ladies any fan-service.

For a short moment, I just lie on the bed and breathe, eyes closed and hand gripped tightly around the axe in my hand. After killing that little girl from Three, it took everything in me to get away from her vengeful allies. And while I'm definitely not scared of that District Seven guy, another fight right after the Bloodbath just didn't appeal to me. I already had to get away from that District Two bitch, who's out for my blood for _no_ reason at all.

And why not add the Capitol to my list of wannabe assassins? After my outburst last night, it's no doubt I'm going to be getting a few attempts at my life from them as well.

"Does anyone _else_ want a shot at me?" I grumble, opening my eyes and sitting up. But the first thing I see, staring at me with wide eyes, is a rabbit. It opens it's mouth — but before it can do _anything_ to me, I throw my tomahawk straight at it. Just like the girl from Three, the rabbit's head is cut wide open and bits of it's brain fly out.

Disgusting.

I jump out of the bed and pull my weapon out of the rabbit's corpse, sticking my nose up in anger and disgust. I don't know what kind of Gamemaker trap that was, but I'm not going for it. The fact that they're already trying to kill me is a bit unnerving — but I've been through enough shit to get through it. Nobody, not even that sick old Gamemaker, is gonna get one over me.

Now that I'm not about to fall over from exhaustion, I feel like I can finally _think_ and get to know my surroundings. After surviving the Bloodbath, I ran through the grassy fields for hours, eventually stopping at this worn-down house. It looked haunted, to be honest, but I needed a place to hide out for a while — and this seemed like my best choice.

Other than just looking creepy, though, this place doesn't seem so bad. The room I'm in right now has a pretty comfy bed, a bathroom, and even a window to escape out of if I ever need to. I pick up my bag and sling it around my shoulder, and I take this time to slowly walk around the place to see if there'll be any more unwanted surprises.

A kitchen with a surplus of different knives. A hallway with creaking floorboards. Another room, this one with a rather sour smell. And then the stairs leading up to the second floor — a floor I don't have the patience of going through in the late dead of night.

"This doesn't seem so bad," I say to myself, collecting the different sets of knives and putting them in my pockets. "Better than what I'm used to, at least." Though back home in my little shed, I didn't have the reason of looking over my shoulder every minute.

Oh wait, I _did_. I didn't trust those bastards back home just as much as I don't trust the bastards here.

I venture back to my starting room and shut the door behind me, locking it as well. If anyone was going to try and sneak up on me, they're going to have a harder time now. I may be crude and confrontational, but that doesn't mean I'm an idiot. I know what I'll have to go through if I want to survive. I know how risky it is for me to be in this abandoned house when the Capitol is already against me.

That's why I need to play the game smart from here on out. Back home, I wouldn't have thought twice about fighting that District Seven guy. But here, I know that the Capitol is going to shift the odds in his favor — which is why I need to think of a plan before the inevitable fight begins.

Because a fight is _going_ to happen. That's some good drama, and the Capitol would rather stab themselves than pass up a chance for drama.

Sighing, I toss my backpack on the bed and unzip it. The first thing I see is an empty bottle — and somehow, I force myself to chuckle rather than frown. I ran for hours, and not once did I see _any_ body of water. _The fuck am I going to do with an empty water bottle?_

_Don't let them know how much this bothers you_, I tell myself, placing the bottle to the side. _They don't deserve to satisfaction of pissing you off_. The next thing I take out of the backpack is a strong, thick piece of rope. If there were any trees around to sleep in, this would be helpful. But I've only seen a handful of trees, and none of them looked like a good place to sleep in.

So this is also fucking useless. Trying to stay calm, I place the rope to my left, right next to the bottle. Next, I dig my hand inside the backpack, desperately trying to find _something _good. And that's when my hand grazes another bottle — but this time, there's something inside.

I take the bottle out of the bag and inspect it — and looking at the label, I almost smile. Almost. It's a bottle of painkillers, which will be very useful if I manage to get myself hurt during my time in this place.

"At least the entire world isn't against me," I say aloud, this time allowing a humorless grin. I place the painkillers to my right, before checking inside the bag once more. There's a small bag of dried fruit, some bread, and even a canister of peaches. While the dumbasses back in One would be thoroughly displeased with this meager meal, I'm actually grateful to see food in the first place. It's actually more than I'm used to getting.

That thought makes me suddenly think of my old life, back when my parents were still alive and I was relatively happy. Food was easy to get. Life was easy in general. But the years have hardened me, toughened me up — and I'm not the same useless kid as I once was. I know how pain feels. I know how starvation feels. These meager supplies will last me.

Taking a small bite out of a green apple, I start placing my things back inside the backpack. _The only thing I need now_, I think, _is water_. I'm not going to last long without any. While I'm not dehydrating just yet, it won't be long before I start.

I walk inside the bathroom and turn on the faucet to the sink. For a second, a really good second, a small stream of water comes out. Before I can take out the empty bottle, though, the stream of water quickly turns brown and an agonizing stench fills the bathroom.

"Fuck!" Anger floods through my chest, and the only response I have is to kick the walk. Surprisingly enough, the wall is weaker than I expect, and my kick creates a small hole. I take a step back, shocked, and I wait with bated breath for something evil and sinister to come out of the dark hole.

...But nothing comes out. I exhale in slight relief, before I turn my attention towards the sink, which is still letting out that putrid shit. I don't let the anger control me, though, and quickly turn the faucet off. With one last glance at the slightly intimidating hole, I stomp out the bathroom and slam the door behind me.

_You should've expected as much._ I can practically feel the invisible cameras all around me; I can practically _hear_ the laughing of those meritorious Capitolites. Trying to blow off some steam, I toss my backpack on the ground and place my tomahawk right beside it. And then, I plop myself on the bed. I don't pull the sheets over myself, though, because death by bed is not something I'd feel proud of.

I close my eyes, feeling a sense of overwhelming drowsiness overtake me. I'll worry about my water supply tomorrow. Tonight, I'll just sleep and try to forget about where I am, even if it's just momentarily.

...That's what I want to do, at least, but suddenly the Capitol Anthem blasts it's way into my eardrums. Oh yeah, the deaths. I nearly forgot.

I'm almost tempted to place a pillow over my head and block it all out. But then, the thought of that District Two bitch crosses my mind, and I all but throw myself at the window. If she's dead, I just might start jumping up and down. _Please be dead,_ I inwardly chant, staring up at the starry night sky. _Please let that witch be dead_.

Light blue pixels suddenly overtake the night sky — and the first face I see, unfortunately, is that little girl from Three. She's smiling, as if she doesn't realize she's dead, as if she doesn't realize _I'm_ the one who killed her. I... It's not like I'm hungry for blood and guts. She had a bag in her hand. I didn't. It was only logical to quickly take her out and snatch up the bag.

I told myself before coming here that I wasn't afraid to kill. If it means I get to keep my life, I'll do anything. I... I don't regret my choice. I don't like that I did it, not necessarily, but I don't regret it.

Still, that means Echo and even my pathetic District Partner are still alive. I turn away from the window, frowning. A nasty feeling churns in the pit of my stomach, something akin to guilt with a tiny bit of anger.

I killed. And if it means getting out of this damned place, I'll kill again.

There's no point in fretting over the past. Not in the Hunger Games. My future is the only thing I can worry about.

* * *

**Michael Riverbee, 13;**

**District Five Male.**

After the Bloodbath, Ceres and I ran for as far and long as humanly possible. The only things we could see, though, for miles and miles were just grassy fields. With the sun quickly coming down, my ally took charge and we eventually found a small tree to stay next to for the night. After going through our single backpack — gained by her gutsiness — we found a few pieces of fruit as well as a bottle filled with water. Oh, and a single dagger, sharp and cold to the touch.

Ceres said that we're lucky to have this stuff. I just frowned. Now that's it's officially the first night of the Hunger Games, everything just seems so much more...real.

So much more depressing.

I stare at my token, a dark green wristband with the letter F stitched on. During the Goodbyes, Finley practically forced it into my hands, tears in his eyes as he stressed over and over again how I'm the one that's going to make it back home. I was crying, too — but I went along with each of his words, because I still had hope of a brighter future.

..._What happened to that Michael?_ I wonder, clutching the wristband in my hand. I just... I just want to go home. Why is that so much to ask for? Why am I being punished like this if I didn't do anything? Why are any of us being forced to fight like wild animals?

Wanting to cry, I just lay on my side, watching the grass sway back and forth. My chest feels so constricted, like just one tug at my heartstrings would make me implode. I'm in the Arena. I'm... I'm in the _Hunger Games_.

This is wrong. So, so, _so_ many things are wrong in this world. I realize now that my parents were so protective of me because things like _this_ are able to go by without a peep of discontent. I finally understand, and it just...kills me inside.

"Hey," Ceres suddenly says, her quiet voice carrying over to my ears. I can't find the strength to look at her, so I just grunt in response. "_Hey_, Michael. You can't... You can't just mope around like this."

If I was still the carefree, innocent boy from District Five, my ally wouldn't have to tell me this. Even if I was in the Hunger Games, I'd always find a reason to joke and laugh. But that Michael is dead, beaten down in the Capitol and now snuffed out here in the Arena.

Surviving the Bloodbath was a blessing — but the cannons of the dead tributes were so loud.

I almost couldn't take it.

Each of the five cannons were like a finishing blow to my already broken personality. I can't even imagine the horrible things that happened after I escaped the barn. Just the mere thought of five kids being killed in cold blood...

_No, no..!_ I curl into a ball, squeezing my eyes shut. _This is wrong. This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong! I wanna go home; I wanna go home; I wanna go home!_

"Michael—"

"I can't do this, Ceres!" I practically scream. Forcing back a sob, I grit my teeth. "I just can't... I just can't be in this place! Kids are _killing_ each other! They could find and kill me — or _you!_ I don't— _I don't wanna die!_"

I don't. More than the fear of having to fight is the fear of taking my last breath, the world around me enveloping into darkness. What exactly happens after death? Is there actually some kind of God watching over us? Does my spirit actually float out of my body and wander the earth as a ghost?

Or is there absolutely nothing? Just eternal darkness? I think, out of all the theories, that's the one I'm most afraid of. Back in Five, playing outside was the one thing that could always bring a smile to my face. I _relished_ in the sunlight. I can't do that if I'm dead...

I can't do anything if I'm dead.

That's why I want to go back home. Even if it means I can never step a foot outside again, I wouldn't care, just as long as I can go back home and live life with my mom and dad. That's my only wish. _Just let me go home. Please. Please..._

"You don't wanna die..?" Ceres' eerily calm voice cuts through my silent pleas. I slowly turn towards her, opening my eyes — and I'm surprised to see tears in her brown orbs. Ceres never striked me as the type to cry, from the first day I met her. What's wrong?

"Are—?"

"He doesn't want to die, everyone!" Ceres interrupts, jumping up from her spot on the ground. She stares up at the night sky, waving her arms around. "You heard that, Capitol? He said he doesn't want to die! Can you believe it? He's, like, the only tribute here that doesn't wanna die!"

I abruptly sit up, staring at my ally in concern. "Wh-What are you doing?"

Ceres snaps her gaze back at me, glaring. "Do you hear that, Michael?"

"...H-Huh?"

"Exactly. You don't hear a damn thing, because the Capitol doesn't care. Do you think, if they knew you didn't want to die, they'd send a hovercraft down to take you home? Do you think that curling into a ball and crying will make them feel any sympathy for you?" She inhales, marching over towards me and grabbing me by my shoulder. I quickly stumble to my feet — and then she grabs my hand, tight. "_Nobody _wants to die, Michael. But unlike you, they aren't crying and whining. They're fighting for their lives."

I'm latched onto each of her words, mouth agape and eyes widened. _The Capitol doesn't care. They never cared. Even back home, they never cared about my life._

_We're just pawns to them._

_And the only way to get back home...is to fight._

"I-I can't fight, Ceres..." I snatch my hands away, feeling that familiar sting in my eyes. The tentacles of dread are, once again, wrapping around my body. "I can't... How am I supposed to kill somebody? Even if I wanted to, I'm...weak..." Even Drusas thought that I was going to be the first one to die. Even though I technically surpassed his expectations, the fact of the matter is that I'm just not strong enough to survive something like this.

I'm going to _die_.

Shaking again, I wrap my arms around myself, a cold feeling in the pit of my chest. _I'm going to die. I'm going to die, die, die, die—_

A sharp sting to my face has my head snapping to the right. I gasp in shock, instantly bringing a hand to my burning cheek. Glancing at Ceres, I see her lower her hand, tears streaming down her face. Did she just...slap me?

"Stop being an idiot!" She screams, sobbing now. In the Capitol, I never would've thought to see my ally like this. She was always so stoic, always so sarcastic. And now, she's flat-out crying in front of me. Without even thinking, I reach to wrap my hands around her — but she pushes me away. "What happened to you?!" Ceres questions, still crying. "When you met me, you weren't like this! You were smiling, and energetic, and just plain happy! You were the spot of color in a grey, depressing world — and now you're just like everyone else!"

_Just like everyone else... What?_ As Ceres falls to the ground, crying her eyes out, I can do nothing else but stand and stare at the shell of my friend. Because while the Capitol has changed me, it's the fact of actually being in the Arena that's taking a toll on her.

I look to the ground, ashamed. What am I even supposed to say to my hysterical ally? She's right; I'm not the same Michael that came from District Five. I've changed. I'm not the optimistic bundle of joy that befriended her all those days ago. With the reality of the Games staring me right in the face, I broke — and inherently became a stronger, smarter boy in the process.

Now that I'm in the Arena, I need to make a choice. I can crack under the terrifying pressure and succumb to the eternal darkness, or I can use my broken personality to prolong our survival. It'd be easy, _so_ very easy, to just give up and cry my days away...

But taking one look at Ceres' sobbing form, I know exactly what I need to do. She needs me. A week ago, I'm almost certain that she could've gone through the Games all on her own. But I infected her with my cheerful presence — and now that I'm not that guy anymore, I need to take responsibility.

"...Sorry."

"Oh yeah, because _sorry_ fixes so many problems in this world," she snaps, glaring at me. "If that stupid word could fix anything, do you think any of us would be here right now?"

I sigh, running a hand through my shaggy mess of blond hair. "Ceres, please, I'm... I'm sorry. I was just... You can't just expect someone to go through this without any problems."

"...I thought you gave up on me, Michael..." My ally wipes her eyes, sniffing. She stands up to meet my height, frowning. "I didn't ally with a guy that just cried all day. I allied with Michael Riverbee, the guy that approached me with a stupid smile on his stupid face."

I feign hurt, hand over my heart. "Is that something you say to someone dealing with depression?"

"I don't care." After a moment of pause, Ceres quickly embraces me in a hug. It's over in a few seconds — but I can still feel the heat and desperation after she lets go. Her eyes practically bore a hole into my own. "Promise me that you'll never be like that again. Please..."

I hesitate. I know, even now, that I'll still never be able to take a life. I'll never, ever be the same Michael Riverbee. I'll never be able to get rid of the fear lurking deep inside my heart.

...But for Ceres, I can at least _pretend_.

"I promise," I say, plastering on a grin. "Now can we go to sleep? I wasn't expecting such an emotional night..."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because the Hunger Games are _everything_ but emotional."

I laugh — and together, we get ready for the deaths to show in the sky. The Capitol may have changed the both of us, but together...

Together, we can get through this.

* * *

**Caio Artelle, 17;**

**District Four Male.**

This is torture.

It's not the fact that I just saw a little girl being chopped down, or even my ally having his neck sliced open. Both of those things will haunt me for however long I live — but no, neither of those are the reason I feel like puking up my meager dinner.

"Are you alright?" The small rabbit suddenly asks me, smiling it's creepy smile. Or maybe it's cute? All I know is that it gives me the shivers, whatever it is.

This is not normal. Animals don't talk. They don't smile. The Hunger Games is deranged all by itself, but this is psychotic in so many other levels. That pig may look cute and that horse may look innocent, but I can't stop wondering just what'll happen when they _aren't_ programmed to look cute or innocent anymore.

_They'll kill you._ I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. _They'll kill every single one of you!_

I know it, too. I just don't know whether to say anything about it. If I'm wrong, the animals could get offended and go on murder-mode — and what if Ula and Kaya think I've lost my marbles? I just... I just don't know what to do.

"I don't think he's alright," I hear the rabbit say to my allies. I open my eyes, and staring at me in concern is my District Partner. She almost looks as anxious as I feel, but there's a sense of composure in her that I could never hope to copy.

"Everything's okay?" Ula asks, tilting her head.

I nod. "Y-Yeah. Well, I think so. I mean... I don't really..."

"Today's been a long day," she says, faking a smile. The way she keeps on tapping her thigh clearly shows how distressed she truly is. "After the deaths, you try to get some rest for the night, okay? Kaya and I can take shifts for tonight."

At the sound of her name, Kaya looks over at us, the emotion practically spilling out of her blue eyes. Hate for the Capitol, distrust of the animals, fear at our predicament — Kaya wears her feelings on her sleeves and rarely care who sees them.

When she brought the talking animals over to us, it was obvious that she wanted to slaughter them all. But Ula quickly reassured that the animals were likely here for added entertainment, and that we'd already be dead if the Capitol wanted us dead.

..._But our deaths _are_ the entertainment here._ Ula personally told me that she's trying to get on the Capitol's good side, trying to look like the perfect Victor...but doesn't she understand how dangerous it is to place our trust on the people who forced us here in the first place?

I don't care what they say. These animals are _mutts_. They're going to kill us — kill _me_.

_But what if Ula's right? What if they're actually here to help us?_

I shake my head again. I just can't decide. I'm far too conflicted, far too indecisive. My mixed feelings were already bad, but now that I'm in the Arena, I feel like every little thought is smashing against my skull and _I don't know what to do._

"It's fine, Caio," comes Kaya's soft voice. "Just because you're sleeping all night doesn't mean you're any less important. You're still our ally and we still need you, regardless of whatever happens."

...I'm still their ally. I should be happy, right? I have an alliance to watch my back, to fight with when shit hits the fan. But... But that also means I'm chained to them. When the numbers start to dwindle, what happens? And what if they get the idea to betray me..?

_No, no. Don't think like that. Whatever you do, Caio, don't think like that._

"Thank you, guys." I force a smile, trying to get that ridiculous idea out of my brain. "I'm sorry to be a bother but..." _But I'm in the Hunger Games, officially fighting for my life. Breno was killed, right in front of me, and I was too scared to do anything about it. There are talking animals surrounding us, ones that could mutilate and kill us. And worst of all, I'm having doubts about this alliance._ "...But Ula's right. Today's been a bit overwhelming and I think I need some time to myself..."

"Of course." Ula motions towards the two backpacks, placed next to the dilapidated building. "You can get some water if you want. Just don't drink all of it. We still need to find another water source before we can glutton ourselves."

"Y-Yeah..." I nod, but I don't make any move towards the backpacks. Putting anything down my throat while I'm feeling this way... Yeah, that's probably not the best idea. Instead, I get up and wander away from my allies, heading to the other side of the house.

Even with those demonic animals near us, we still decided to stay outside rather than go inside. The risk is just too great. But now that I have a bit more time to think, maybe we should've at least taken a look? What if it actually wasn't a trap? What if... What if there was some kind of prize inside for the tributes who've found it?

_Or maybe Kaya's right, and going inside means death._ I shake my head again, groaning. Why do I have to contemplate everything?! Why can't I just...do?!

I fall to my knees, staring at the starless night sky. It's almost amazing how regular people can create something like this, wasting billions and billions of dollars for the sole purpose of killing kids. It's wrong. It's sick. But unlike Kaya, I'm not in the position to voice how dissatisfied I am. And yet, I don't want to shove my head in the Capitol's ass like Ula seems to be doing. I just...

I don't know what I want.

My thoughts venture towards my two allies, sitting on the ground with a surplus of creepy farm animals surrounding them. I was having thoughts during training, but now that I'm in the Arena, everything feels so much more dire. Can I really...trust them? I mean, even though Ula acts like an older sister most of the time, she's showed on more than one occasion that she'll do the Capitol's wishes to prolong her survival. And not to mention the fact that she volunteered for her little sister, meaning she's desperate.

What's stopping her from taking her knife and stabbing me in the chest while I sleep? District Four will hate her, yeah...but it could still happen. Right?

And then there's Kaya, who acts on her emotions and rarely anything else. What if the stress gets to her and she chops both Ula and I into little pieces? She's shown on more than one occasion how good she is with a sword, not to mention her outstanding score of _8_. What if she's the one to kill me? What if, instead of the other tributes and even the Capitol, it's my own allies that I need to watch out for?

"Stop it!" I smack myself in the head — twice. Anything to get those disturbing images of deception out of my mind. If I end up thinking about things like that, I really _will_ end up going crazy. Ula will _not_ kill me. Kaya will _not_ kill me.

I don't need to abandon the alliance. That'll be the worst decision of my life...

...Right?

Suddenly breaking me out of my thoughts is the Capitol Anthem, though, blasting through the Arena. Even from all the way on the other side of the house, I can hear Kaya vociferating her anger and Ula trying to calm her down. And then the little animals have to add in their two cents, talking in their high-pitched squeals. I, on the other hand, just sigh, looking up at the pixelated sky.

This won't be a very happy moment — but I'm thankful for the distraction.

The first face to pop up is the little girl from Three, Iris. When that District One guy slammed his axe into her head... I think it was then that the Games truly started. It was then that we all realized the price of losing. Death. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to mourn the girl, even though I hardly know a single thing about her.

I'll never forget the image of her sprawled on the floor, that weapon lodged inside her brain.

The second face to appear is the District Five girl, Alexandra. Honestly, no matter how young she was, she seemed like a competitor. She was mysterious, seemingly determined... I'm surprised to see that she's dead, especially so early. The next face, however, makes me clench my fists in anger rather than sadness. Breno Harmont. My ally. My...friend.

Every time I think of that moment in the barn, when Zander was holding Breno hostage before slitting his throat... I feel like I'm going to puke, cry, and then puke some more. I _knew_ that guy was bad news. I _knew_ it — but instead of warning my allies, I kept my mouth shut. Now Breno's dead, and this crazy guy is out roaming the place.

..._He could kill us._ A cold feeling of fear ices around my body, digging deep into my heart and freezing it cold. Okay, yeah, I'm scared. Kaya pissed Zander off, and now he's taking it out on all of us. That could've so easily been _me_ on the ground, bleeding from my throat. And that terrifies me. I don't want to die... I really, really don't want to die.

_Oh, but you're going to die, Caio,_ I can practically hear Zander say. _Kaya has her sword, and Ula has her knife. What do you have? Nothing. When they eventually backstab you, or even when Zander comes find you, you'll be defenseless and dead._

Dead.

I stand up from my spot on the ground, muscles tense. So many thoughts are flying through my mind, like the impending threat of Zander, or the possibility of betrayal, and even the creepiness of those animals. I can't... I just can't deal with all of this. I'm probably going to regret it later — actually, I _know_ I'm going to regret it later — but I can't stay here and continue to go through this inner turmoil.

Just like I told Ula and Kaya, I need some time to myself.

And by that... I mean I need to split from the alliance.

Realizing that the deaths are done and the sky is it's natural shade of dark blue again, I start running away. Away from the dilapidated house, and away from my allies, and away from the animals. Away from my problems. Away from my confliction.

I take one last glance at the house, but I quickly turn around and continue running. _Don't think about it. Just do it._ Flashes of my ex-allies pop in my head, Ula with her reserved smile and Kaya with her cheerful grin. I'm actually abandoning them. What will they do when they realize I've left? Will they be worried? Will they be mad..?

_No, don't think!_ I continue running, even as the fear of the unknown threatens to choke me alive.

I just split from my alliance on the first day. From here on out, I'm on my own. All I need to focus on now is keeping myself alive.

...But why do I feel like I've made the worst decision of my life?

* * *

**Author's Note: If this chapter sucks, I'm sorry. Why is the Arena so hard? D: Maybe when we get to the action, it'll be easier. Which is next chapter, actually! :0**

**So yeah, not much to say this time. Again, sorry if the quality of this chapter isn't up to your standards. I always feel like this, though, so maybe it's fine? Ugh, I feel like Caio... xD**

* * *

**_What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?_**

**_There's a death next chapter. Who do you think it's going to be and why?_**

* * *

**Yeah. Reviews are always lovely to read. So yeah, I'm thirsty and your reviews are the water. *opens mouth***

**Bai! See you next time!**


	20. Day Two

**Day Two.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Tet Kender, 13;**

**District Three Male.**

The first thing I hear when I open my eyes is the thunder. I immediately jump awake, looking around at the environment around me. The clouds above are dark and dreary, while a blast of lightning hits the ground a few miles away. The rain is heavy — and combined with the powerful gusts of wind, it's almost impossible to see in front of me.

This is so different from yesterday's atmosphere. What the heck happened? I feel like I've awoken into a nightmare...

"Good morning, Tet."

I turn my to the left, and I'm instantly greeted with Daniel's calm smile. Even with the wind and rain whipping his black hair everywhere, he emits an aura of pure tranquility. For a moment, I just stare at him, amazed at how relaxed and unbothered he is. I haven't even been awake for five minutes and already I feel like hyperventilating.

"G-Good morning," I say, standing up from my spot on the ground. I look around for my farm hat — but I guess the wind blew it away, because it's nowhere to be found. I turn back towards my ally, who seems to be staring off into space.

And just like that, the memories of yesterday plow right into my brain. The Bloodbath, or _whatever_ they call it. Iris' death at the hands of Vesper Quinn. Calla's smiling face in the sky, killed by who-knows-what. It all comes back like a punch to the gut, and I have to force myself not to cringe.

When Iris was killed, Daniel ran after Vesper in cold anger, while I struggled to keep up. I don't know how long I ran; I just know that my heart was pounding way too much to be healthy, and my feet felt like they were burning. When I knew I wouldn't be able to run anymore, I yelled at Daniel to stop.

It was the first time I've ever really screamed at somebody. And for a moment, a blood-curdling moment, Daniel looked like he was going to leave me. I... I wouldn't know what to do without him, guiding and reassuring me. I've placed my ally on such a high pedestal that if he were to abandon me, I'd be...

I don't even know what I'd be. _Lost_, most-likely, stumbling around until the inevitable happens...

_The inevitable_. That's right... I'm in the Hunger Games. Five kids died yesterday. And by the end of this week, nearly twenty more kids are going to succumb to death's embrace. _Meaning I'm going to die. I could never kill Daniel, even if I wanted to._

I shake my head, realizing I'm staring off into the distance as well. My ally is probably thinking about the events of yesterday, when Calla's face showed up in the sky at night, signifying her death. It was hard to swallow the fact that both of our allies were dead — and even more horrible was the fact that we practically left her in there.

Daniel had the same calm look on his face as he does now. I'm not good at reading people, but even I know how much pain and sadness lies behind those dark eyes of his. He blames himself.

It's a bittersweet feeling, knowing how relieved I was at surviving while both Iris and Calla died. I miss them both so much...

I... I want revenge on Vesper. He _killed_ Iris, my sweet District Partner who wouldn't hurt a fly. I still remember the looks she would give me, the way her face would light up whenever I opened my mouth to speak. He deserves to _pay_ for what he did to her. I'm not exactly behind killing him, but...

..._But what? It's what he deserves, right? Daniel wants him dead, and Iris would want him dead. So... So that means I need to want him dead as well._

"This puts a damper on our plans for today," Daniel suddenly says, breaking me out of my thoughts. I give him a quizzical look. "We were supposed to find and eliminate Vesper today, but I don't think we can do that in this weather."

"Oh..." He's right. Fighting in this type of environment would be a horrible idea.

I nod my head, letting him know that I agree with anything he wants to do. Even though I sorta feel the thirst for revenge, it still doesn't make sense to me, talking about lives like pieces in a game.

But during my time in the Capitol, I realize that nothing in this world makes sense. I'm _scared_ — but the only thing I can do now is adapt.

"Let's find some shelter until this storm stops," Daniel says, his voice so blunt and emotionless. I never would've thought that the Arena could get to my unstoppable ally, but it _is_. He was so cheery and compassionate in the Capitol. Now, he's like a robot.

And his main objective, avenging Iris, is the only thing he cares about. It's almost unnerving.

Nonetheless, I nod my agreement and start packing. The only thing I have in my backpack is a few pieces of food, some rope, and a single knife. Daniel, on the other hand, was only able to get himself a sword.

After I'm done packing, we start walking through the fields. With the wind, rain, dark clouds and thunder, it's a lot more dreary than yesterday. It's almost frightening — and I keep on having this bad feeling like something is going to pop out at us.

It's like the feeling you get during a recurring bad dream, when you know something horrible is going to happen yet you don't know when.

"Open your mouth while you walk and drink the rain. Until we find a lake or something, this is the best thing we've got," my ally tells me.

"Oh... Yeah." I do as he says, closing my eyes to keep the rain from blinding me. I don't know if drinking rainwater is good...but it must be better than dehydration.

When my throat doesn't feel as dry as before, I stop, wiping my face. I glance up at my older ally, and on his face is a determined grimace.

He grips his sword. I realize, then, that he feels the exact same thing I feel. Unnerved. Like danger is approaching.

"Tet, take out your knife." The words come out of his mouth so quietly, I almost miss it with the wind blowing so violently.

_Take out your knife. _I'm right. Something is coming. I quickly unzip my backpack, my hands shaking, my entire body shaking. Something is coming — and for once in my life, I'm not oblivious to the danger. I'm _scared_. I could die. _I could die._

I don't want to die. I may not have any friends back home, and I may not understand the world I live in...but I do _not_ want to die.

"D-Daniel—"

I don't get the chance to talk. As soon as my shaking hands find the knife, a loud _howl_ cuts the air. Both Daniel and I whiz around, back-to-back, staring at the empty fields around us. What was that?! I've never heard that sound in my entire thirteen years of living. I keep on looking around, trying to locate the origin of that deathly noise, but I can barely see past a few feet in front of me. There's too much rain, too much wind, too dark.

And then, it hits me. That noise definitely didn't come from another tribute. I know _exactly_ what it is. After my session with the Gamemaker, I did what he told me, and my Escort played the First Hunger Games on the television for me to watch. It was almost haunting to look at, knowing each of those kids were going to die except one. And when they all refused to fight, going their separate ways, I knew right then that each of them were going to have an agonizing death.

_Muttations_, my Escort called them, as set after set of mutated animals tortured the tributes to death. They're designed to give the Capitol audience a good show while punishing an unruly tribute or two. From as small as bees to as big as bears, an encounter with one is nearly fatal.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. _What did we do? Why are we being punished like this? _I don't know — and from the looks of things, I'll never be able to find out.

"Tet," comes Daniel's eerily calm voice, cutting through the sound of my beating heart. "Whatever you see, no matter what it is, you kill it. If you don't—"

He doesn't get the chance to finish. A large animal with big ears and piercing brown eyes comes charging at me, running on all fours. It's fur is a dark orange color, smooth-looking, while it's tail is bushy and lighter than the rest of it's body. It doesn't make a sound; as soon as it's in my vision, it opens its jaw to reveal a set of deadly teeth.

I scream, my body moving on auto-pilot and kicking it right in the snout. It barely looks offended; instead, it seems to let out a deep laugh that shocks me to my very core. _Animals don't laugh. What is this? What is this what is this what is—_

"You're going to pay for that, human," it speaks. And just like that, I feel my entire body shudder until I'm practically convulsing. This...doesn't make any sense..!

The knife in my hand is practically useless, because my hands can't find the strength to move. Before the animal can pounce, though, Daniel jumps in front of me and swipes at it with his sword. He doesn't hit it, and the animal quickly runs around, coming for me again. It's moving too fast, and I'm too astonished to react. It comes close, deadly close, and opens it's jaws.

I don't hear Daniel screaming my name, or even the sound of the rain pattering on the ground. All I hear is the squelch of my arm being torn into as the animal sinks it's teeth directly in my skin. I don't even feel the pain; time seems to go in slow motion as the animal's brown eyes stare at me, and my left hand clenches the knife's handle.

Time goes back to it's regular speed as I plunge the knife inside the animal's head. Blood shoots out at me, and I can practically feel the life draining away from the mutt. I scream, tearing my arm away from the animal's mouth, and then I scream again at the agonizing pain coursing through my right arm.

"Tet!" Daniel comes rushing to my side, and I barely manage to see the blood smeared on his sword. "Shit, I thought you could handle it! There was a pack of them, and— Dammit, Tet, please don't do this to me!"

It's the first time I hear my ally speak like an actual human and not like a pretentious instructor. I almost want to smile — but then the pain ripples through my body again, and it takes everything in me not to cry. For a moment, my vision blurs, and I feel like the pain is slowly ebbing away. But just like that, my vision jumps back into focus as another wave of agony eats at me. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it HURTS!

"D-Daniel, I..!" I don't know what to say, or how to even say it. I killed a mutt, but in return my arm feels like it's on fire. I know, deep inside, that a wound like this won't kill me. But I can barely focus on a single thought right now, because my arm feels like it's going to explode and I don't understand why this happened!

I close my eyes, not wanting to see, touch, or even think about what a mess my arm must be in right now. The rain pattering down on my wound just makes it sting even worse. And to top it all off, I think I'm lying in mud.

For a second, I just moan in pain, letting my arm hang away from me. And then, all of a sudden, I hear a soft ding that somehow manages to stand out against the wind. Just like that, Daniel shoots away from my side, and an excited yell escapes from his throat.

"It's a sponsor gift! We got a sponsor, Tet!"

I don't know what to say to that, so I say nothing. Inside, though, my mind is whirring. _Why would the Gamemaker send Mutts at me? And why would the Capitol send a sponsor gift right after? Is my pain just simple entertainment to them? Are they going to hurt me and heal me and then hurt me over and over again?_

For a second, I think of refusing the medicine. But then, the fear of death has me quickly reconsidering.

More than ever, I finally understand what kind of world I live in. A world fueled by the pain of others, a world enamored with making it out on top.

Now, I understand.

And I know exactly what I have to do.

* * *

**Adeline Callard, 18;**

**District One Female.**

"This is just great," Echo grumbles, staring at the ground. Her hands keep clenching and unclenching, visibly trying to keep herself calm. "Why would that old Gamemaker make it storm? How is he supposed to get entertainment now? Nobody in their right mind would fight in that weather!"

She's right. The only thing I've been doing ever since I've woken up is staring out the window — and nobody should even be walking out there, much less fighting. With the wind blowing the rain everywhere and the clouds shrouding everything in darkness, I'd be terrified. Even now, safe and sound in this spacious barn, I'm still scared beyond belief.

_You're one of the lucky ones, Adeline!_ I try and tell myself. _The other tributes have to deal with that storm while you're dry and unharmed. Stop acting like a victim!_

I'm not the victim here. Not yet, at least — and hopefully not ever. Terrance and Kostos moved the dead bodies outside to be picked up by a hovercraft, but I can still see their mutilated corpses, still smell their blood, still hear their _screams_. _They're_ the victims.

Every year, I watched the Games, hoping to form a type of resistance to death should I ever get reaped. But watching it on the television is _nothing_ like experiencing it for yourself. Every time I close my eyes, I can see Vesper chopping that little girl in the head. I see Kostos shooting an arrow and stabbing that girl from Seven straight through her body.

It makes me want to throw up, cry, scream, and then whimper in the corner. But I don't. I still want to be liked, by the Capitol and even by Echo, and nobody will like me if I go crazy like that. I want to be _strong_. Strong like Echo, who can cut through a person without batting an eye. Strong like Kostos, who can kill and still give me that charming smile. Strong like Terrance, who can stay calm and assured no matter what's going on.

Compared to them, I'm useless — but I don't want to be. I'm trying hard, _so very hard_ to keep it all together. And maybe it's working? Maybe I'm slowly getting stronger as the minutes pass?

But suddenly, I see a lightning bolt strike the ground and thunder roars through the air. I squeeze my eyes shut, screaming. _This is torture! Get me out of here! Please, somebody, get me out of here!_

"Adeline, calm down! Have you never experienced a storm back in District One?" Snaps Echo, who's immediately at my side. I open my eyes and stare her in the eye, trying but failing to apologize. She leans closer to me — and for a moment, I think she's going to hit me.

But thankfully, she just sighs and storms away. I stare at her retreating form, feeling a surge of emotion fly through my veins. _It's not fair. Why can't I be like you? It's not fair!_

"Y'know, it's getting tense in here," says Kostos, suddenly appearing in my line of vision. He smiles a little, showing teeth — and just like that, I feel my face getting hot in embarrassment. I like him, I really do.

But then I see him shooting that arrow into that girl's stomach, and the attraction ceases. In the Capitol, I tried to distance myself from what was soon to come, how Kostos volunteered to kill. He was just so charming, so nice, so endearingly flippant that I couldn't stop myself from gaining an _eensy-weensy_ crush on the boy. But now that we're in the Arena, I'd be disgusted with myself if I tried to pursue a relationship while people on the outside were _dying_.

And for him to be the cause of one of those deaths...

"And what do you have to suggest we do?" Echo replies snarkily. "Go on a field trip?"

"Nah, I wouldn't want to get my hair wet," he jokes, and I find myself giggling. For a moment, I forget about where I am; I forget about the storm, the dead tributes, and the bloodstains just a few feet away. "But we should play a game."

"A game?" Echo repeats, incredulous. "Is this game not good enough for you?" I find myself about to laugh again — but the meaning of her words stop me right in my track. _The Hunger Games._ I'm in the Hunger Games. Why should I be happy when..?

_Stop acting like a victim!_

"We're stuck in here with each other until the storm stops, so we gotta do something." Kostos looks behind his shoulders, searching in the darkness for our District Nine ally. "Hey, Terrance! You wanna play?"

The boy in question steps out of the darkness, a glint in his dark eyes. His arms are crossed, but it's not hard to see the flash of a dagger attached to his belt, or the weird-looking sword attached to his back. Unlike Kostos who's too carefree, or Echo who's too arrogant, Terrance is ready for anything.

"Depends on what it is," he responds, blunt. "I'm not going to strip for you."

At that, Echo bursts out laughing, while Kostos just shakes his head. "Don't be like that. Come here, all of you."

Curious for what Kostos wants to do, I get up from my spot by the window and hurry over next to him. Back in One, I've been to a lot of parties, and I've played a lot of different games. It was always fun to hang out with friends, ignoring the injustices of Panem and just bathing in our own luck. Now that I'm here, it's a lot harder to ignore just how cruel a world I live in...but I can still _try._ Just like how I'm trying to be strong. Just like how, even now, I'm trying to get everyone to like me.

When we all circle around the boy, Kostos grins. "Okay, so the game is called _Two Truths, One Lie._ The rules are simple: When it's your turn, you tell everyone two truths about yourself and then one lie. It's the other players' job to figure out what's what. Understand?"

"That sounds really fun," I speak up for what must be the first time since coming here. Everyone's eyes dart towards me, and my face heats up in embarrassment. "Um, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be sorry. You can go first," Kostos says, grinning. Echo snorts at that, while Terrance just stares at me. I nod, chuckling nervously. _Okay, okay... Two truths and one lie? That should be easy._

But in reality, it's not easy for me at all. I want to make it hard for them, but I don't want them to think I'm lying. And what if they think I'm boring? I can tell that everyone in the Capitol must be listening right now, and everyone from the districts, too. More than anything, I want them all to like me.

"Okay, well..." _Think, think, think!_ "I used to have a crush on a boy older than me..." That's true. I still think of Declan sometimes, but I know better than to pursue something like that. Besides, he has a girlfriend...and she looks better than me. "I used train with weapons, every day, so I'm pretty skilled at fighting." _That's_ the lie. I've never picked up a weapon prior to being reaped — and by the way Echo rolls her eyes, I can tell she knows. "And I'm really jealous of my younger sister."

I _am_ jealous of Delaney. Despite being younger than me, I feel like she's the better of us. She has a boyfriend, and she has so many friends, and I feel like our parents take more pride in her than they do me. It really hurts me whenever I think about it — because it's not _fair_. I try my hardest to be the best I can be, and my sister comes along and beats me at everything.

"How obvious could you be?" Echo says, shaking her head. "Everyone has crushes on someone older than them, and you seem like the type to get jealous easily. Those two are the truths, and you training is the lie. Next?"

As soon as the words leave her mouth, I can feel the embarrassment clawing through my body and tearing me limb from limb. The Capitol is probably laughing their butts off right now, teasing and making fun of me just like Aeliana Devrine did. I bite my lip, trying not to cry. _Don't let it get to you. Don't let it get to you!_

"Y-You're wrong," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. Echo's eyes widen and then narrow in suspicion, while both Kostos and Terrance just stare at us. "You're right about the first part, but I'm not jealous of my little sister. C-Come on now..."

"Really? So you trained?" Terrance asks me. His eyes bore into my own — and I _know_ that he knows I'm lying, just to make myself seem better than I actually am. I mentally plead for him to not tell anyone, before nodding.

"Of course I trained..."

"That's surprising," Echo mumbles, before standing up. "This game is boring me. I'd rather get struck by lightning than continue this." Just like that, she storms away, probably angry at being proven wrong. _But she was right. You're the one who's wrong, you pathetic liar._

I get up, too, mumbling some sort of excuse before walking back to my window. I was stupid to think that playing a game could distract me from the real problems, from my real insecurities. I'm in the Hunger Games — and I'm going to _die_. _Everyone's_ going to die.

_Someone, please... Get me out of here..!_

* * *

**Ula Dylan, 18;**

**District Four Female.**

I rush inside the house and slam the door behind me, holding it down as the animals outside _bang_ and _bang_ on the wood. I can barely contain the fear in my voice as I snap at Kaya to find something, _anything_ to place against the door. Without a word, she rushes deeper inside the building, while I keep my hands pressed against the wood.

A bang. A flurry of curses. _Another_ bang — this one harder and louder than any of the others. _Was it the horse? Oh God, how am I going to hold out against a horse?_

I know I've been putting on a mature act for the Capitol — but I can't, I just fucking _can't_. Why did I place my trust on those frilly pieces of shit?! _Of course_ the innocent animals would turn out to be bloodthirsty and crazy! And now, _now_ they're going to slaughter me.

"Kaya, hurry up!" I scream, just as another hard bang hits the door. I can practically feel the wood tearing apart, bit by bit, just waiting for the right opportunity to crack and let loose a barrage of teeth and claws on my face. And to make matters worse, thunder hits the ground, shaking the earth and almost bursting my eardrums at that.

I bite my lip, forcing back a sob. I can't break down now. If I do, all the good attention I've received from the Capitol will just fall away. They'll think I'm weak, pathetic — and I've worked _too_ hard for them to have that image of me. I bit my tongue, smiled whenever they wanted me to smile, and made sure not to let any of my hateful intent bubble out the surface.

I've done so much to stay alive and go back to my family, and _this_ is how they repay me?! Bring down my defenses with cuddly animals and have them attack me the moment I turn my back?

"Kaya!" I scream again, feeling the wood breaking more and more. Another bang, more promises of torture — and just like that, I feel the first drops of tears start to pool out of my eyes. "_KAYA, HURRY UP!_"

"The only thing I can find is this bed, and I can't move it on my own!" She yells, rushing back to my side. But it's too late. The moment I open my mouth, a loud _CRACK_ cuts through the tension, and the top of the door flies right off.

It's a miracle I manage to duck in time, or I'd have been beheaded right then and there. As I fall to the floor, time seems to slow down, and a rabbit's small head looks over the broken door at me. Yesterday, I thought the animals were unnerving, but cute at the same time. Now, all I can feel is fear as it smiles, showing off it's unnaturally sharp teeth.

I don't think rabbits have teeth.

"You bitches are _dead_," it says in that squeaky voice — and lunges straight at me. I squeeze my eyes shut and strike out with my fist, knocking the rabbit to the wall. Before it can recuperate, Kaya quickly impales it with her sword.

I stare at the furry creature, wondering how they could put on such a happy facade and turn murderous the next second. When I woke up this morning, I was drenched from the rain, and Kaya was complaining about how uncomfortable it's going to be moving around in wet clothes. We didn't realize things had changed until it was too late; one of the squirrels had violently tore up our two bags and ate all of our food, leaving us hungry and without any supplies. And then, one of the pigs bit Kaya on her leg, while the other animals started screaming a barrage of curses at us.

I thought I was having a nightmare.

"Ula, let's go!" Kaya yells, grabbing at my shoulder. I stumble to my feet and start racing down the hall, just as the two horses break the other half of the door and let all the other animals inside. We run into what looks like a kitchen — and there, right on the counter, is a large butchering knife. It's almost as if the Gamemaker expected this exact scenario. I'd scream at the cameras no-doubt following our every move, but I still have hope of keeping up my image.

I can't let my emotions ruin my chances of going back home.

I quickly grab the knife, just as two squirrels come charging at us. Kaya swipes her sword and quickly beheads one, while the other one lunges at my face. It's the exact same thing that happened a minute ago — but this time, I have a weapon of my own. I slash in front of me, cutting the squirrel right across the face and knocking it on the floor. It screeches in pain, writhing. For a second, I just stare at it, knowing what I have to do but not knowing if I have the stomach to do it.

_These things aren't human, Ula. They aren't even real animals. They're Mutts, made by the Capitol._

_Made by the Capitol_. The squirrel looks up at me, growling, frothing at the mouth — but before it can do anything, I stomp on it's neck. I can feel the bone breaking away, feel the blood pooling out of it's wound...

But it's not human. It's a monster. I'm doing what I have to do to survive.

"We need to get upstairs!" I tell my ally, watching as she slashes at two more squirrels. She nods at me, trying to step away from the scene without losing focus on the creatures trying to tear her limbs apart. A pig comes barreling out of the hallway and straight at me — and I plan on kicking it away, or even stabbing it, but it does the unthinkable. It _jumps_.

I'm taken by surprise as the large animal crashes into me, sinking it's teeth straight into my shoulder. I scream, feeling the pain coursing throughout my entire body, traveling through my veins and setting everything aflame. "Get off!" I yell, stabbing and stabbing it's meaty flesh. "_Get off of me!_" The pig doesn't seem to be letting go of my shoulder, no matter how many times I stab it, and the pain in my shoulder only intensifies as it crunches down harder and harder.

For a moment, everything freezes, and images of my family flash through my mind. My father, who's both my role-model and my best friend. River, my little sister who we adopted after both her parents were burned alive by the Capitol. Isla, the one I'm the closest with and the reason I'm here in the first place. Brooke, who can always find time to sing our sorrows away. Even Solomon, my strong older brother.

I can see them all, crying, watching as I meet my end at the jaws of a pig. _I won't let that happen..!_

Feeling a fiery determination surge throughout my body, I grip the knife and stab the pig straight in his head. The knife pierces straight through his brain — and just like that, the pressure on my shoulder fades, right along with the Mutts life. I shove the animal off of me, wincing at the blood running down my arm, at the pain still coursing throughout my body.

I can deal with pain, though. Struggling to my feet, I see Kaya fighting against one of the horses, dead animals all around her feet. Squirrels that constantly talked with us, rabbits that made sure we were safe and sound, even the little chickens that bossed the other animals around. Now, they're all dead — because the Capitol doesn't care who or what dies, just as long as they stay in power and get the entertainment they feel like they deserve.

It's sickening. For once, I just want to scream and kick the wall, vociferating just how much I hate every single one of them.

But I don't. Because I was _this_ close to death, and even thinking of how my family would react to my demise is too saddening. If I lose control of my emotions now, I lose everything.

Still wincing from the shoulder-wound, I rush past my ally, trying to find the stairs to the top floor. At the sound of her finally slicing the horse's head off, my eyes locate a ladder going up to the second floor. It looks unsafe, definitely — but staying down here is what's unsafe. As soon I open my mouth to call for Kaya, she's already at my side, covered in blood from head-to-toe. Looking at the red liquid on her makes me look at myself, and I cringe at the blood covering my own hands and shirt.

"Seriously? This thing looks like it'll break apart the moment we put our hands on it!" Kaya exclaims angrily.

I shake my head, pushing her forwards. "It doesn't matter. You climb up first." Even in a crisis, I'm still acting like a big sister. Bad habits die hard, they say — or in this case, they die painfully.

She does as I say, holding her sword between her teeth and quickly climbing the ladder. It wobbles for a second, like it's going to evaporate into dust, but Kaya quickens her pace and makes it to the second floor before it can break. Now it's my turn. With thoughts of death lingering at the back of my mind, I place my hands and feet on the ladder and start climbing as fast as I can, not caring if this thing splits into two.

Suddenly, my leg starts to burn, and I wince at the reminder of my injury. _Don't think about it. Just climb. Just climb!_ I continue going, biting my lip, fighting back tears as pure agony spreads from both my leg and shoulder. Kaya holds out her hand to help me — right when another wave of animals start to rush into the room. With one last burst of energy, I jump onto the second floor and kick the ladder down on the floor.

I can't help but smile in satisfaction when I hear it break apart. Those creatures won't be able to get up here.

"That..." Kaya holds a hand to her heart, panting. "That was insane."

"Yeah..." I can barely breathe myself. Nobody should have to go through what we just went through. I feel like throwing up — and when my thoughts wander to our torn supplies, or to the blood dripping from my shoulder, the sensation of being totally _fucked_ over makes me wants to cry.

_We needed Caio._ Whenever I think of my District Partner, all I have the energy to do is shake my head. Last night, he abandoned us. I don't know how Kaya feels, personally, but it really hit me hard. And what's worse is the fact that I don't even know _why_ he decided to leave. Was it the fear of the animals? Or was it the fear of us?

I'll never know. Because he's gone — and it doesn't look like he's coming back.

_Stop thinking about it, Ula._ It'll do nothing but upset me if I focus on the negatives. For now, all I need to focus on is the fact that we're safe. We survived. Things are going to be hard for a while, that's for certain — but for now, we're alive.

In the Games, that's all you can really hope for.

* * *

**No Deaths.**

* * *

**Author's Note: Yeah, I talked about there being a death this chapter, but I decided to move it to the night. I'm glad I did, too, because none of this good action and development would've happened otherwise. And for the first time in forever, I am actually really satisfied with how this turned out! I thought the Arena was going to be hard, but maybe it was just the tributes that were giving me a problem. Hm. Whatever it was, hopefully I don't have to feel it again, because I finished this extraordinarily fast!**

* * *

**_What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?_**

**_It's your second day in the Arena, and everything seems to have changed. The weather is horrible and the animals have decided that killing you would be in their best interest! Do you think you'd survive — and what do you do to survive?_**

* * *

**Remember, don't forget to review! It doesn't necessarily make your tribute go farther, but it does determine how much I like a submitter xD And it does determine how fast I update as well, SO REVIEW!**

**Bai! :P**


	21. Night Two

**Night Two.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Meeko Brighton, 14;**

**District Eleven Female.**

_God, please be with me. _

The storm hasn't let up at all from this morning, meaning it still feels like I'm in the middle of a typhoon. Now that it's nighttime, though, everything is a thousand times worse. I can barely see anything past my hand; I feel like someone, some_thing_ is going to jump out of the darkness and slaughter me at any second. Because of the rain, my black hair is clung to my face — and with the wind blowing at irrational levels, the temperature has dropped exponentially.

All in all, this is a very unsettling situation.

The urge to get on my knees and pray, right here and right now, is almost overpowering. Back in Eleven, I was considered by the others as _extremely_ spiritual — and in a way, I am. If I didn't have the power of faith to carry me through my days, I don't know where I'd be right now.

If I didn't have something to believe in, I'd be...lost right now. _Especially with Koda gone. _

I shudder — and not because of the cold, either. Just the mere thought of my deceased friend makes me want to break away the layers of my calm persona and fall apart, physically and emotionally. Koda was the sunniest boy I'd ever met — and in mere minutes of being here, the Capitol clouded his shine with death. It's unfair. It's... It's just so unfair.

_You of all people know how unfair life is. Why are you acting like this is a surprise? _Quickly wiping away my tears, I take in a breath of air, before exhaling. Honestly, I planned for this. Realistically speaking, Koda was never going to make it very far. I knew, even when I was standing onstage in District Eleven, that the only way I was going to survive was if I went at it alone.

Still, those were only calculations in my brain. Koda actually _dying_ hit me harder than I would've ever expected. Sometimes, I can still hear his bubbly laughter. Sometimes, I can still see his dark face, scrunched up in a pout.

_Just stop thinking about it, _I tell myself, stumbling along the dark fields. I'm drenched from head-to-toe in rain, just like during my Reaping, but I can't bring myself to care. All I can focus on — _want_ to focus on — is finding shelter and maybe even food for tonight.

Earlier today, I was attacked by a rabid pack of raccoons. Instead of harming me, though, they simply stole my backpack of supplies. I lost everything, even my dignity. I can just imagine everyone back home, shaking their heads at the little orphan-girl who can't even fight off some animals. Even in the Capitol, they're probably waving me off as the next one dead.

_Dead. _Biting my lip, I continue walking, more tears welling up in my eyes. But I don't let them fall. If I cry now, it's over. I'll never be able to recover from the depression. That's why I need to constantly remind myself of my faith — because if I lose faith in God, _here_ of all places, I'm nothing more than a walking corpse.

And I can't... I just can't die here. Everyone wants to go to Heaven, they say, but nobody wants to die to get there. I go by that saying every day of my life, when I'm struggling to find food in the orphanage, or even when my thoughts turn sour and the sorrow threatens to overtake my life. Death is just too...

It's too scary, too dark, too _random_.

I have to survive this — even if it means I lose myself in the process. I'm a peaceful girl, but there is no such thing as _peace_ in this place. If I don't do something now, the Capitol will forget about me, and I'll _die_.

"You should eat something," I suddenly hear someone say. I freeze in my tracks, eyes widened, mouth agape. _Who was that? _"Seriously, do you wanna die of starvation? Even in the Hunger Games, that's kinda lame."

My mind instantly connects the voice with the girl of District Ten, London Tienna. I slowly lower my body to the damp ground — and there, in the distance, I can see two shadows under a giant tree. If I remember correctly, London allied with Toren Ingalls of District Nine. That must be them.

"I'm just not hungry," Toren replies, her voice lower than her blonde ally. "...Sorry."

London sighs. "Don't be sorry. Look, I understand, today's been pretty rough. You can take the first shift for tonight, if you want?"

From what I can deduce, their alliance is already cracking. Their personalities are so different, I find myself wondering why they even decided to team up in the first place. That's why I told Koda that we couldn't have any allies. In the end, there's only one winner. Not only am I untrusting of these other tributes — but having to deal with the heartache of their death would be too much.

It's easier, seeing faces in the sky and not knowing a single thing about them.

I listen to their conversation for a bit more, but after awhile I realize that I gain nothing from this encounter. I'm about to turn around and find somewhere else to stay — but suddenly, a soft _ding_ catches my attention. I look up, shocked, as a white parachute comes sailing down towards me. Attached to the end is a black box.

_A sponsor? _I'm not exactly the pessimistic type... But seriously? I didn't say a word during my Interview, and my Training Score was a lowly _4_. Even with an entire district rooting for me, why would anyone sponsor me anything?

I quickly grab the box, tossing the parachute away. Attached to the box is a note, slightly wet with rain. There must be something special about this paper, because even with the night shrouding everything in darkness, I can easily make out the letters on my note.

_This is the only thing you'll be getting, unless you manage to do something other than mourn. Koda's dead, we get it, but you need to be active or else the Gamemaker will target you. It's nighttime, and those two unsuspecting girls won't know what hit them. I think you know what to do._

— _Priscilla._

I wince at the callous tone of my Escort, crumbling the note and tossing that on the ground as well. And then, I open the box. What greets me is a sharp, curved knife. Perfect for slashing. Perfect entertainment for the audience.

_...They want me to kill them. _I swallow that horrible thought, a wave of nausea momentarily overcoming my senses. That must be it. With no deaths today, the Capitol audience must be getting bored. Antsy. And since I'm no-doubt the least entertaining tribute, the responsibility of livening up the night is violently dropped onto my shoulders.

For a second, I want to throw the knife away and scream at the sky. But I know how dumb that would be. Priscilla is giving me a chance here. A disgusting chance, but one nonetheless. If I take this sponsor gift and walk away without doing anything, I'm only signing the name to my own death certificate.

_I have to act_. I grab the knife out of the box, rubbing my hands against the smooth metal. _If I don't, I'll die._

I stare at the two shadows, my mind whirring with plans and calculations. The odds of killing them both aren't in in my favor at all. But if I can just kill one of them and run away, maybe the Capitol will be satisfied. Maybe I'll even get food, water...

Resigning myself to my fate, I get up from the ground, slowly walking towards them with the weapon clenched tightly in my hands. I know that what I'm about to do right now will be..._unforgivable_. I'll never be able to wipe this moment out of my mind. I'll never be able to forgive myself for what I'm about to do.

But maybe God will be able to forgive me. In the end, that's all I hope for.

* * *

**Toren Ingalls, 15;**

**District Nine Female.**

"You want some water?" London asks me, which must be the thirtieth question tonight. I shake my head, just staring out at the dark expanse of grass in front of me. Even though I can barely see anything, and the rain makes everything look so gloomy, it still feels nice to just sit down and breathe in the nature around me.

Back in Nine, that was my favorite activity. I'm a very serene, peaceful person — and being out in nature was always so therapeutic to me. Whenever I felt overwhelmed with life, I'd always surround myself with the wheat fields.

In a way, I saw myself as a part of nature — but in a more depressing way than some people might think. The grass has no say in whatever happens to it, just like me. If it isn't watered by some other force, or not taken care for, it dies. If someone wants to cut it down, there's nothing the grass can say or do to stop it.

"...Wanna tell scary stories?" London asks — and for a second, a surge of negative emotions overcome me. Can't she realize that I just want to sit here in silence? In the past day, I've seen things that no other girl my age should ever see. I've seen a twelve-year-old be chopped in the head with an axe, a boy have his throat sliced open, and even a creepy talking bird!

What's the point of telling scary stories when we're living the most horrifying story right now?

"Yeah, no thank you," I mumble, letting out my bad emotions with a sigh. I'm not one to usually get worked up over things. But here, in the Arena, it'd be crazy to not feel a bit...frantic.

That's why I'm not too sure about London's mental state. In the Capitol, she was one of the only tributes to really enjoy her time. She even made friends with a trainer! I thought that when she went into the Arena, things would be different, and that she'd start to think and act more seriously. But I was wrong. If anything, it's almost as if she's smiling even harder now that she's here!

_You can't trust her, _I tell myself, over and over again. _Don't let her work her way into your heart. Because in the end, it's not worth it. _Even in Nine, this mantra is what I lived by. I made friends, got attached — and just like that, I was pulled away by my mom and never saw them again. Even the men that my mom dated... They all eventually became old news.

That's why it's so hard to trust people in the first place. That's why it's so hard for me to get attached to others. The worst pain isn't the kind you get from a wound, but from the invisible knives that stab into your soul.

_So close yourself off. Don't be an idiot. _While I know exactly what to do, it still doesn't make the process of pushing others away easier. London is always smiling, but there's a kindness in her eyes that's unrivaled. She may talk a lot, or not understand social etiquette, but...but I can _feel_ the good inside of her.

And yet, that just makes it even harder. Maybe in District Nine, I'd be willing to start a friendship, despite the risks. But in here, I can't take risks. Twenty-three tributes die, and only one tribute comes out alive. It's either her or me.

_And no matter how peaceful you are, or how compassionate you are, you still want it to be you. Selfish little Toren._

"Hey..." London's voice cuts through the darkness of my mind. I whiz my head to look at her — and even in the dark, those green eyes of her sparkle with intensity. "I know we're in the Games, and I know we've seen some horrible things, but I will _not_ allow you to just shrink into yourself. We're going to give the other tributes hell, and we can't do that if you aren't...y'know..."

"Yeah." I chuckle, realizing just how bad my body is shaking. I doubt it's because of the cold, either. I take in a deep breath before exhaling it all out, trying to loosen up the mental confinements I've placed upon myself. "You're right, London. I'm sorry, I'm just... I'm just sorry."

I'm trying to adapt to the Games. I thought I could, too — but there's a fine line between frequently moving and _murdering_ people.

"It's cool. Just try to be a bit more talkative tomorrow, okay?" She laughs a bit, slowly laying on the ground. "It's getting a bit dull talking to myself. Even though I _am_ the best conversationalist around."

She's about to go to sleep. Realizing that my eyes are heavy with exhaustion, I yawn and stretch my arms. Before I can lay down next to her, though, I feel a slight tightness in my bladder area.

"I, um... I have to go pee," I tell London, who just mumbles in response. I get up from the ground, dusting myself off a bit, before glancing in her direction. "I'll be right back. Try not to start a fire while I'm gone."

"Take your weapon," is her only response. For a moment, my mind blanks out, and I realize just how dangerous going to use the restroom could be. It's dark, and raining, and I'll be vulnerable to whoever sees me...

Quickly grabbing the machete-like weapon, I rush off a few yards away from our shelter. I'm pretty sure London doesn't want to smell my pee while she sleeps, and neither do I. When I feel like I'm far away enough, yet not too far from my ally, I stop and take a deep breath.

There's nobody around me, from what I can see. The darkness enveloping the grassy fields is almost unnerving — and coupled with the sound of rain hitting the ground, it's even more scary. I feel like a muttation is going to jump out and skin me alive, just like when that talking bird pecked my hand and London had to kill it and toss it's corpse far away from us.

_Just stay calm. Hurry up and pee. _I resign myself to my fate, placing my weapon on the ground and slowly unzipping my overalls. My mind wanders to the viewers at home, and how they're probably watching me right now — and if not for the sharp tug of my bladder, I'd have probably stopped and ran back to London.

But I really do have to pee. So I think of nothing else but that as I manage to free my upper body from the ridiculous farm costume.

And that's when I hear it. A small _plop_ to my left, like someone stepping in wet grass, followed by a series of more plops. _SOMEONE'S COMING_, my mind screams at me, but I can barely force myself to turn around in time to meet the body of another girl, the exact same height as me. I don't take in her appearance; all I see is the glint of a knife before my brain goes on autopilot and I swing my arm out in defense.

She gasps a little, my palm hitting her shoulder and knocking her off balance. I take a step back, eyes wide, all kinds of thoughts screaming in my head but my body being too shocked to respond. When the girl regains herself — the short black hair and silence identifying her as the District Eleven female — she pounces.

I scream, shutting my eyes. _FIGHT BACK FIGHT BACK FIGHT BACK!_ I duck, her knife grazing the top of my head, before grabbing my own weapon. I can't get back up in time, though, and she falls on top of me with the knife going straight for my face. I bring the blade up to meet her own, momentarily pausing my gruesome demise as metal grinds against metal.

"Get off of me!" I yell, shoving her and trying to crawl away. But she doesn't let me. I barely manage to turn around before a sharp pain enters the back of my leg, spreading like fire and traveling up to my brain.

For a second, everything freezes. _She stabbed me._

And then, like a glass of water, my emotions spills over. I _scream_, tears instantly filling up in my eyes, before gripping my blade and swiping at the girl's head. She ducks, before snatching her knife out of my leg. Another wave of agony spreads throughout my body — and my vision blurs, pain overtaking my entire existence.

She gets up from the ground, staring at me with those cold eyes of hers — and without being able to stand, I just stare right back at her, whimpering at the wound on my leg. _I'm dead. I'm so dead. I messed up, and I'm dead. _

_I don't want to die..._

As I'm staring death straight in the face, I realize just how many regrets I have. I regret not trying harder to keep in contact with my friends after I moved. I regret not trying to help my mother with her relationships, instead of secretly ridiculing her. I regret not ever speaking up for myself, letting people just use and use me.

I regret yelling at my mom during the Goodbyes. I was just so _mad_, so _desperate_, so... I don't even know. All of my frustrations came out at once, and I thought that _she_ was the reason I was angry. I thought everything was her fault.

But now, I realize it's my own. I was angry at myself — and I just blamed it all on her.

Sobbing now, I fervently shake my head at the District Eleven girl. "P-Please. Please d-don't do th-this..." I have too many regrets. I have too many people that I want to see again, like Olivia and Holden and my mom. Even Saxton, my mom's current boyfriend.

_Don't let me die here. _I stare at the girl's face — and when she frowns, gripping the bloodied knife in her hand, I start crying even more. _Oh no, no, please...please..._

"I'm sorry," she whispers, barely audible over the wind and rain. She takes a step towards me, her eyes hardened with conviction.

Once again, the fear overwhelms my body, intertwining with the pain, and my body moves on it's own. I strike out with the machete, trying to keep the distance between us — but she has other plans. She quickly whizzes around my weapon and jumps on top of me, forcing the breath out of my body, before stabbing at my head.

I jerk to the right, the knife slashing my cheek open but not killing me. I scream, thrashing, feeling a surge of desperation flow through my body. _I don't want to die! I'm not going to die! _I try to hit her off, but she has both my arms pinned to the ground.

"Just leave me alone!" I plead, but she's not hearing anything. Once again, the knife raises — and as I stare the bloodied tip, I realize that I won't be able to get myself out of this situation. I feel like crying and screaming and fighting all at the same time. But I don't. Instead, I just stare.

One second, the knife is about to plunge into my head. The next second, _her_ head flies right off and lands a few feet away, and a gush of blood hits me right in the face. I don't move, or scream, or do _anything_ except stare at the headless body of a girl on top of me, sticky red blood cascading over my face.

**Boom!**

I wince at that sound of her cannon, before looking up — and standing right there, his single weapon coated in a fine layer of blood, is Zander Engres of District Eight.

* * *

**Zander Engres, 17;**

**District Eight Male.**

"Looks like I found you," I say to the District Nine girl, allowing a small smile to grace my features. At the sight of me, she literally shivers, a look of pure terror in her brown eyes. I chuckle at the sight. "You thought you could just get away unharmed after what happened during the Bloodbath? How cute."

My main focus was on Kaya, so I couldn't really spend time killing this girl earlier. But I've been walking all around this arena, killing all kinds of creepy animals, and I haven't seen a single sign of my redheaded District Partner. I've been getting antsy. The rush of killing that District Six boy has long passed — and I just want to feel in control again. It's almost exhilarating, having such power over another person's life. I didn't realize it before, but killing is _fun_.

And I want more of it.

I glance at the District Eleven girl's decapitated head, frowning. _That_ wasn't very fun, though. She didn't even see it coming — and what's the point of killing someone if they don't even know who or what killed them? What's the point if they won't even be able to feel the pain? Slicing that girl's head off felt like stepping on an ant.

I didn't have much time to think, though. As soon as I heard the familiar sounds of screaming, I rushed over here as fast as I could. And seeing that girl trying to kill the one from Nine made me a bit frantic, because if anything was going to kill her, it was going to be _me_. She stole my weapon during the Bloodbath.

I'm not the forgiving type, as you probably know.

"Well, now that she's dead, you don't have to worry anymore!" I explain, a sense of glee overtaking my emotions. For a second, the girl's eyes widen, a glimmer of hope shining deep inside — but I break down her optimism by shaking my head. "You don't have to worry about a quick death, I mean. Stabbing you in the head would've been automatic and painless. So boring, am I right?"

At that point, it's like the event is finally downloading in the girl's brain, because she lets out a pain-filled sob mixed with a scream. She shoves the decapitated body off of her, moaning in disgust, before trying to wipe the blood off of her face. But that yields no results. The stains on my hand are an example of how hard it is to clean that sticky liquid off.

"N-N-No, come on... P-Please don't..." Thankfully for her, the rain manages to clean a bit off — but it's obvious that the blood isn't the main problem. She'll never be able forget the face of that District Eleven girl. She'll never be able to forget the sound of her head being sliced off, nor the sight of a headless body. She'll be traumatized forever.

_Deep down, so will you. You were messed up already, but now you're totally insane. You're the sad one here._

I laugh, shaking my head of those irrelevant thoughts. "You had so much fire inside the barn! What happened?"

The District Nine girl looks up at me, tears rolling down her cheeks. "What is _wrong_ with you?" She questions, panting. "You're... You're insane. J-Just leave me—"

"DON'T TALK BACK TO ME!" I feel a sudden surge of rage flare throughout my body before _stomping_ on her leg. I don't feel anything break, unfortunately, but the sudden pressure on her wound is agony enough, because she screams the loudest scream I've ever heard.

It's music to my ears. I retract my foot, smiling as she groans and sobs, shuddering. This is just too great. I can practice what I'm going to do to Kaya on this girl right here. And it's exactly what she deserves for taking my weapon during the Bloodbath. If she had a bit of respect, then maybe things would've turned out differently?

"I'm the one in control here, as you should know. So no being disrespectful, or things get a _lot_ worse." My eyes suddenly notice a small glint on the ground beside her, and my smile somehow manages to get even bigger. It's my scimitar, the one she _stole_. Grabbing it off the ground, I see that not a smidge of blood is on it.

It's in perfect condition. How thoughtful of her to keep it clean for me.

"Now tonight is a good night," I say, chuckling a little. I hold both blades up, one in each hand. "I feel so powerful!" And not only that, but I can just _feel_ the eyes of the audience, lapping up this encounter with bated breaths. I can feel my _father's_ eyes, silently praising me. Never again will he look at me like a piece of tissue in the toilet.

I'll be important to him. It's the only thing I can truly say I want — oh, and Kaya's demise.

"Please..." The girl's still crying. I glance at her, hoping my disinterest shows. Now that I have both of my weapons, I could hardly care less about the Nine girl. Sure, she's still going to die, but maybe I'll make it quicker?

That's what I'm thinking of, when suddenly, my ears catch the sound of footsteps. I turn around and barely manage to bring my weapons up in time to block the fervent strikes of...of that District Ten bitch! What is she doing here?! She swipes at my head with a machete, but I knock her attack away before striking with my own two blades. Somehow, she manages to block and dodge all of my attacks, before suddenly running away.

Feeling a spike in temper, I glare at the stupid girl's retreating form. "Who do you think you are?! D-Don't run from me!"

She glances over her shoulders, giving me a toothy smirk in response. That alone is enough to make me forget about the whimpering District Nine girl and chase after the Ten girl, a ringing in my ears and a throbbing in my neck. These people just make me so _angry! _I will not allow these two whores to embarrass me in front of my father!

After chasing her for a while, she eventually stops running and meets my glare with a confident smile. I stop right in my tracks, trying to calm myself down a bit before going in for the kill. _She's nothing. Just kill her and kill the other girl. That's all you have to do. _But even I can't fully convince myself of this. Her smile is infuriating, but it's a bit ominous how calm she seems to be in the face of death.

"Well, what brings you all the way out here?" She asks, her tone flippant. It makes me even angrier, so much so that I stomp the ground in fury. "Um... How old are you again? Are you seriously having a tantrum right now..?"

"SHUT UP!" I scream, charging at her. I swipe at her head with my right scimitar, but she quickly ducks and tries to stab me with her machete. Thankfully, I have two blades, and use my left weapon to block and throw that attack away. She stumbles backwards — and seeing my chance, I stab both weapons at her chest.

She falls on the ground, avoiding the attack, before kicking at my knee. I buckle unceremoniously to the ground, cursing under my breath, the rage growing stronger and stronger with each second of being humiliated like this. Both of us on the ground now, I abandon my weapons and lunge at the Ten girl, falling on top of her and wrapping my hands right around her throat.

"Gah!" That smile of hers is wiped clean off as I tighten my grip, trying to strangle the life right out of her body. _Die, die, die..! _She thrashes against me, punching my arms and even my face, but I ignore the pain and focus on the prime objective. This girl dies _tonight_.

And then, out of nowhere, I feel an unimaginable pain in my groin. I scream, losing my grip — and she uses that opportunity to shove me away. For a moment, I forget about the Ten girl and writhe on the ground, my hands clutching my bruised genitalia. She kicked me in the balls!

And dammit, it _hurts!_

"You are..." She pants a little, before smiling that unbearable smile once again. "You're fucking psychotic. Come near me and my ally again, and you're dead."

The girl from District Ten picks up her machete, gives me one last arrogant smirk, and then runs off to where we left her wounded ally. I want to get up so bad. I want to torture them both, make them writhe and scream — but right now, with this ache in my groin, I can barely move. The feeling travels up to my stomach, making me nauseous — but no, no I will _not_ throw up right now.

_Look at you. First you can't find Kaya, and now that District Ten girl embarrassed you in front of everyone. Father's probably ridiculing you right now. _

I force back the tears, a deep loathing settling in the pit of my stomach. She's going to pay for what she's done to me. I'll let them off the hook for now — but after I kill Kaya, those two bitches are dead.

And I'm going to enjoy every bit of it.

* * *

**Meeko Brighton, 19th: Obviously Entei, I really found myself connecting with Meeko this chapter. She was intelligent, knew what had to be done if she wanted to live — but at the same time, everything that happened in the Arena affected her. She knew Koda wasn't going to make it very long, but it still hurt her. She knew that she'd have to kill, but that didn't make things emotionally easier. I found myself loving Meeko in this chapter, because she was finally becoming a real tribute, yet in the end she still wanted to keep her humanity and stay true to her faith. If I had connected with Meeko like this earlier, then maybe she would've gotten further. Unfortunately, her death was planned to move the story along and develop the other tributes more. May she rest in peace. :')**

* * *

**Author's Notes: I killed a tribute... ;-; I don't know how to feel. I'm sad for Meeko, but I'm excited that things are finally moving forward. After this death, things start moving faster and faster. So don't worry about the tributes taking too long to die, because I know some of you were getting bloodthirsty xD**

**I feel like I'm not good at action scenes, and the quality of this chapter suffered because of it. Hopefully this was a good read nonetheless? **

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**It's nighttime in the Arena — and suddenly, a seventeen-year-old male tribute attacks you! He says that if you give him all of your supplies, he'll let you live. Do you give in, or do you fight back?**_

* * *

**I have more news. Now that I'm finally home, the blog will finally be updated with deaths and the like. I know the links aren't working for some reason, though, so if you need the url to the blog just PM me and I'll be happy to give it to you!**

**Also, I've made little obituary pictures for the dead tributes in this story! To find them, you can go to my DeviantART, which is on my profile. If the link doesn't work, though, don't be afraid to PM me!**

**And lastly, I'm really thankful for the reviews I've been getting so far. Seriously, you all are great. It's a real motivation booster when I'm stuck on a certain tribute and a review pops up. Thanks a lot, and keep it up!**

**Bai!**


	22. Day Three

** acannoninthewind. blogspot. com**

** panemsgreatesthg. blogspot. com**

* * *

**Day Three.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Terrance Vallier, 16;**

**District Nine Male.**

Today's the day. We're finally leaving the barn — to _hunt_, like a real Pack.

_If only this was a real Pack. _I have to refrain myself from snorting. Instead, I just give a mysterious smile to the invisible cameras around us. _I'm grateful, though. If this was anything like last year, or even the year before that, things would be more problematic. _

Fortunately, this Pack couldn't be any more dysfunctional. It couldn't be any easier to rip apart from the seams. For starters, Vesper Quinn isn't here — and he's already got the Capitol against him, so I'm assuming he won't be a problem in the future. Secondly, Adeline is a bumbling mess. She's constantly trying to prove something to us, constantly trying to make us like her — when in reality, she's just making herself look even more pathetic. I expected her to break apart, but I didn't expect it to be _right _after the Bloodbath. It's just sad, really…

And let's not forget about Kostos. He's just like Adeline, but at least he can actually fake his cheerfulness to a certain degree. When he killed Calla Mallow, he didn't think anyone saw it — but _I _saw. I saw how his smile faltered, how he looked like he made the biggest mistake of his life. And honestly, he _did _make the biggest mistake of his life. I don't know why that idiotic boy even volunteered, but I guess it doesn't matter. He's not going to make it out of this Arena alive, I can guarantee that.

"Terrance," says Echo, bringing me out of my musings. I raise my brows, crossing my arms and waiting for a response. "I hope you're ready. Even if you were a Peacekeeper, I expect no slip-ups out there."

I can't help it; I chuckle. "Neither do I expect any from you. All it takes is one misstep and you won't even get the chance to say _oops_."

For a second, she narrows her eyes. But that second doesn't last, as she gives me one last smirk and walks away to bother Adeline. I stare at her retreating form, noticing the lack of weapons on her person. How easy it would be to just kill her right now, break apart this entire alliance in the matter of seconds.

I shake that thought away, though. Adeline wouldn't be able to do anything but shiver and shake, but Kostos would definitely be able to react fast enough and take me out. He's an idiot, but he's a strong idiot. That's why I need to plan my steps carefully, wait until the time is exactly right, and then strike when there's absolutely no backlash on my part.

Echo's my only real competition here, after all. She's an arrogant bitch, but she's deadly if given enough opportunities. That's why I need to stop those opportunities the moment I get the chance — and I've had many chances, believe me, but this chance needs to be _perfect_. It helps that she trusts me the most out of this group of buffoons, all because she think I'm like her. A Capitol supporter. A Peacekeeper-turned-tribute.

If only she knew I didn't give a damn about the Capitol, or even the entirety of Panem. I just want to live my life the way _I _want to live it, not the way President Kronin wants me to live it, working and working in District Nine until my bones turn to dust. And if I have to lie about being a Capitol supporter, I'll do it. If I have to act like I want to be in this alliance of morons, I'll do it,

If I have to kill each and every tribute here, I'll do it. Whatever happens will happen, and there's no reason for me to cringe or act traumatized at the fact.

"Alright then!" Echo automatically takes the role as leader, even though we never voted. She stands in front of us — me with my claymore, Adeline with her small knife, and Kostos with his bow and arrows — and puts on a demanding face. "We're going outside for the first time since coming here. When we're out there, I expect nothing but your _best _behavior. That means whatever I say do, you do it. No exceptions. Everyone understand?"

So arrogant. So _stupid_. "Of course," I say, plastering my fake smile.

"You're the boss, Madame Woods," says Kostos, grinning cheekily. Echo rolls her eyes, before turning her gaze to Adeline.

With the sudden attention on her, the girl blushes. "Y-Yeah, I understand," she stammers. I almost shake my head. It's just saddening to look at. One day, Echo's going to lose her patience and kill the poor girl.

I smirk. _Not if she doesn't do it quickly._

This alliance's time is running out. They better do everything they want to right now — because when I'm done, there'll be nothing left but me.

"Well then. Now that everyone knows the gist of things, let's go." Echo turns away from us and opens the doors to the barn.

The light of the outside world hits my eyes hard, forcing me to squint. And that's not all that has me squinting. When Kostos and I dragged the dead bodies out here, the rolling fields of grass were beautiful — but normal. Now, it's like the grass is impossibly green and the sky is impossibly blue. If we weren't able to hear it yesterday, I wouldn't even know there'd been a storm.

It's almost dream-like. What's the point of having this place look so cartoony? Is it to lull the tributes into a false sense of safety? Or is it something more, something so sickenly disturbing that us tributes cooped in the barn can't understand?

_It doesn't matter. _I look away from the mesmerizing sway of the grass, hardening my eyes on Echo's sword. _That's _what I need to focus on — the weapons, the blood, the reality of our situation. If I let this dream-like haze distract me, it'll be all over.

"It's so pretty out here," Adeline whispers — but immediately shuts her mouth at Echo's look of disgust.

"We don't have time for sightseeing, _Adeline_. Just remember why you have that knife in your hand," she snaps, scoffing. Quickly, she starts speed-walking, motioning for us to follow. "And also, we aren't coming back until we have at least one kill! So remember that if you feel like slacking, _Kostos_."

The male from Two snorts, glancing at the girl from One. "You're prettier than this place, at least. So don't worry about Echo." And with that charismatic sentence, he catches up to his District Partner and walks alongside her. By the look on Adeline's face, I can tell that harmless sentence meant so much more to her than it should.

I scoff. "So stupid," I grumble, following the pair from Two, not even caring if Adeline heard me or not. I don't have to worry about her at all.

We continue walking through the grassy fields, the cool breeze negating the effects of the scorching sun. Kostos tries to make small-talk with Echo, but she's determined on finding a tribute and nothing else. He then tries to talk with Adeline, but her meek responses must get boring after a while, because his blue eyes gaze over to me.

I almost sigh. "Please don't."

"Come on!" Kostos gets closer to me, playfully jabbing my arm with his elbow. "We're the two boys of this alliance, yet we barely speak a word to each other. I mean, I didn't do much speaking with boys back in Two—"

"I can see why."

"—but that doesn't mean I can't make a connection with my ally, at least." He doesn't take the hint, or maybe he just doesn't care. Nonetheless, his presence bothers me and I really don't want to associate with him more than I have to.

_But maybe you should get some info. More information on your enemies wouldn't hurt. _I try to force the thought away, but I can't help but be a bit intrigued by his mysterious nature. It's the proactive side of me, the one that would never let an opportunity like this go to waste. Besides, it wouldn't even look like I'm questioning him, since _he's _the one who wants to talk to _me_.

"Okay." I manage a personable smile in his direction. "Why did you volunteer?"

For a second, surprise crosses his face, and I notice Echo slow down a bit. But immediately, he puts on another one of those false grins. "Because I wanted to?"

"That's a dumb reason." And not the truth, either. "I know you're smarter than to give your life away just on a whim?"

"It's not giving my life away if I'm going to win."

"Victor or not, your life is now property of the Capitol. You will always be in the spotlight, and you'll never be able to regain the normalcy of living in Two." I don't mean to sound snappy, but it does test my patience when people feel the need to try my intelligence. "So yes, you just gave your life away. What's the real reason?"

He shifts, and I can practically _see _the cogs in his head. I can practically _see _the regret of speaking to me flash across his face. But he can't give away his happy little facade, not yet. And so, with an almost bitter tone in his voice, he finally answers the question I know everyone's been dying to know.

"It's not like I had much of a life back in Two," he says, but quickly backpedals. "I mean, _of course_ I had a life, but...y'know... It just wasn't what I wanted. You always need to aim for better things, right?" He chuckles a little, but the pep in his voice isn't quite what it used to be. He's troubled — and for the first time, I can _actually _see it. "But yeah, I just want to find myself here…"

"That's interesting..." I don't know if the satisfaction is wiped off of my face, but I don't care. I found out his one true weakness. I found out the reason behind his fake smiles. I found Kostos Sylett's one insecure speck in his body of confidence.

Now I know for sure that I'm going to end up being the one on top. People like Kostos can only delude themselves for so long until they fall apart. People like Adeline can only take so much until they crack. And people like Echo can never get their own heads out of their asses long enough to realize the real danger coming straight for them.

This alliance is already dead.

And me, _I'm _the one who's going to do it all.

* * *

**Ceres Cantrell, 13;**

**District Six Female.**

Our District Partners are dead.

It's the one thought swimming around in my head as Michael and I pack our bags and get ready to leave. Yesterday, we were both too busy fighting wild animals to fully react to the fact. But now that it's the next day, and everything seems to be a thousand times more peaceful...

Yeah, it's hard not to think about the very people you came here with when they're no longer among the living.

I mean, it's almost surreal. I knew that people were going to die the moment I got reaped, but I somehow managed to detach myself from the thought of it being _Breno_. All throughout the Capitol, Vita practically gushed over him, making it obvious just who she thought was going to win out of the both of us. She even made _me_ believe that my District Partner was so much more superior, even if just a little.

Now he's dead — and I'm not.

It might be stupid of me, but I would give anything to see the look on Vita's face right now. Instead of him, _I'm _the one that's made it to day three. Instead of him, _I'm _the one that's surviving on canned fruit and a small dagger. Instead of him, _I'm _the one that's still in this hell-hole.

_...Is that really something to be proud over?_ I shake my head, rolling my blanket into my backpack. I'm not happy that I'm still in this place, even if it means I'm still alive. I'm not even happy for Breno's death, even though it means one less competitor. I'm happy because Vita underestimated me, and now she's probably running around like a duck without it's head, shocked and confused.

It gives me hope, y'know? If someone like Michael and I can survive longer than our stronger District Partners, that means we actually have a shot at potentially winning this, despite what everyone else might think. Luck is very seldom on my side — but maybe, just maybe, the odds are _finally _going in my favor.

"Ceres, are you almost finished packing?" Michael asks me, his voice bringing me out of my thoughts. I look up at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, almost hidden by the blinding smile on his face. He's trying to be strong for me, even when I know he feels like utter crap inside.

It makes me feel so conflicted, seeing him like this. He obviously wants nothing more than to just give up, but I'm forcing him to fight, even when there's not a smidgen of fight left in him. It's almost selfish of me. But… But it's just not _fair_. He can't just worm his way into my heart with that infectious grin of his and then completely cut me off a few days later!

I saw something different in Michael. I saw a boy who could laugh in this horrible country, who could retain a sense of purity when Panem is everything but. And for him to get inside this Arena and completely change… It's just not right.

That's why I yelled at him two days ago. I just couldn't bear the thought of him _giving up_. I couldn't bear the thought of him...leaving me to fend for myself. I may not speak much to strangers, but that does _not_ mean I'm some bad-ass. I realize, now that I'm here, that I can't do this on my own. I never _could_ do this on my own.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much done," I answer, looking away. My voice is quiet, guarded — just like how it was the first day I met him. So many things have changed since then, though. "Not like we're in a hurry or anything…"

"I heard that," he says, chuckling a little. I roll my eyes, though a small smile does somehow find its way on my face.

After a minute, I'm done packing, and we head away from last night's shelter. Well, if you'd like to call it a shelter — but honestly, it's nothing more than a dip in the ground. While running from the rabid beasts that roam this place, Michael and I weren't able to find anything more than a tree to hide under. And I don't think you're supposed to hide under a tree during a storm, so we eventually settled on the dip in the ground.

_The Capitol really knows how to keep us tributes comfy, don't they?_ I snort, clutching the straps to my backpack. Without talking to each other, we just simply walk through the grasslands, the sun beaming down on us and the wind blowing against our bodies. It's almost peaceful.

Well, as peaceful as a battle royale can be, anyway.

"So what are we doing today?" Michael questions. The cheerful chime of his voice is gone; he's nothing but serious, except for the occasional smile.

I frown. "I was thinking we'd go to a party, get drunk — that kind of thing. You know, the usual Hunger Games activities." Seriously, what does he _think_ we're going to do? Survive, obviously.

"You don't have to be so sarcastic." He's smiling, but the edge in his voice is there. I know he's tired. I know all he wants is one excuse to stop going, even when he's trying his hardest to stay intact. I know that if I push too hard, he'll fall apart.

I don't want that to happen.

"Sorry." I sigh, slightly speeding up my pace. "If you want a real answer, we're just going to walk around until nighttime. I don't... I don't know what else we'd do." There's quite a few things, actually. Encountering a Mutt would be bad, but I think encountering another tribute would be worse. I'm not mentally prepared to take a life, and I doubt Michael is mentally prepared to do anything at this point.

I close my eyes, feeling a slight sense of panic overtake me. _I'm in the Hunger Games. So what if Breno died? That just proves there are stronger tributes in here. Tributes that'll kill me without a bat of their eyelashes. _

I may never act it, but I'm _so_ scared right now. I may have lectured Michael about this, but even I want to curl into a corner and just cry my days away. Because seriously, what real chance does someone like me have? It'd be laughable for me to last longer than the boy from Two, or even the two from Twelve! And after what I said during my interview...

Shivering, I look behind my shoulder at Michael. _And what about him? If he's going to win, that means I'm going to die — and vice-versa. What if he realizes this and stabs me in the back? W-Would Michael do that to me..?_

The paranoia building in the pit of my chest is almost suffocating. The optimistic side of my mind is telling me to stop being such a nervous wreck, but the cynical side of my mind is _screaming_ at me to wake up to reality.

Oblivious to my inner turmoil, he gives me a small smile.

I'm about to interrogate him — I _really_ am — but suddenly, a soft _ding_ catches both of our attention. I look up at the small parachute floating down towards me, completely impervious to the wind. A sponsor? Seriously? I thought the Capitol was stupid, but I didn't think they were dumb enough to actually waste money on us...

Michael jumps up and grabs it, the smile on his face looking more and more real by the second. I stare at him in slight disbelief as he tosses the white parachute away and focuses his attention on the small note attached to it.

"A note?" I deadpan, shaking my head. "Thanks, Capitol. This'll be sure to protect us from the—"

"Run..." Michael's face is suddenly very pale, his eyes wide. I tilt my head, walking up next to him to get a look at the note. On it, in perfectly clear writing, is one word underlined over and over again.

_RUN!_

— _Vita._

I feel a horrible sense of dread wash over my entire body, dousing everything in horror. The tension surrounding Michael and I is so thick, so _powerful_ that I can barely take in a breath. As I read the note, over and over, warning bells are just ringing and ringing in my brain. _Run. _Louder and louder. _Run..!_

"...Run from what?" I finally croak out, my voice as soft as a whisper. Michael looks up at me — and then, without a second of warning, a voice cuts through our terror-induced silence.

"LOOK! TWO BRATS!"

I jump, the fear filling up my veins, forcing my body to move on complete autopilot. I don't even have to turn around to know just what's coming for us; the girl from Two and her posse of killers. Meeting them is the equivalence of death itself.

_Run. _The words on the note are suddenly magnified in my brain. _Run! _Without even a second of hesitation, I drop my backpack on the ground and start running as fast as I can. I don't even know if Michael is following me — and for a moment, _this_ moment, I don't even care. All I care about right now is getting away, away, _away..!_

Unfortunately, luck is never on my side. Never. I don't even make it a few meters before I feel a hand grip around my ponytail, dragging me to the ground. I cry out in pain, tears welling up in my eyes, and immediately lash out at the person above me. The girl from Two, Echo. I kick at her knee, trying to scramble away — but she won't stand for that. With a scowl on her face, she stomps on my stomach, taking the breath right out of my body.

_No... _I cough, whimpering, trying and trying to push the girl's foot off of my body. But it won't budge. _No, please... I can't die here..._

"You really thought you could run?" Echo taunts, her face red. A satisfied smile creeps upon her features. "Luckily for you, I'm not in the business of prolonging pain. I want this to be over just as much as you do. Say your prayers, Six."

I want to scream, call her a sadistic bitch, do _anything_ to maybe prolong the inevitable. But all I can do is stare, wide-eyed, as she raises her weird-looking sword and levels it right above my chest.

_I'm going to die. _The thought bulges at the forefront of my mind, and I can't help but let out a childish sob. I never even got the chance to apologize to my mom for being such a brat. I never even got the chance to really live my life! How can I die now, when I'm just a thirteen-year-old girl who hasn't even gotten her first kiss yet?

_I can't die. Please, please, please... _

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" Michael's voice roars above my silent pleas. One second, Echo is about to plunge her sword into my chest. Next second, Michael comes into view and swings my backpack at Echo's head, knocking her right off of me.

I quickly get off the ground, panting, my heart beating so fast that it's the only thing I can hear in this chaos. _He saved my life. _I glance at my ally, who's glaring at the girl from Two. _He... I was going to die. And he saved me..._

"Ceres, run." Michael's voice is hard, his hands clenched around the straps of my bag. "Get out of here. Please, just—"

"And leave you to die?!" Every bone in my body is screaming at me to run, to get away, to _live_. But I can't. Not if Michael has to die.

_But he's going to die, regardless of what happens here. This is the Hunger Games. Save yourself, Ceres. Don't be an idiot!_

My ally looks at me, his voice taking a pleading tone to it. "_Please_..."

That's when I realize it. Michael _wants_ this to happen. He wants to be killed by these creeps. He wants to be free from this horrifying place, filled with people who'll want nothing more than our bodies six feet underground. Now, he finally has a legitimate excuse. He's not giving up — but at the same time, he is, because he knows that there is absolutely no chance for him here.

The only thing he really wants at this point is for me to be safe. He wants me to escape, so that he can die without feeling guilty. It's so... It's so _selfish_. It makes my blood boil. It makes me want to scream, punch him in the face, and then cry afterwards.

_...But I can't take this away from him... _

I sniff, taking a few steps back. In the distance, I can see the rest of the Pack, swiftly advancing on the scene. _It's now or never_. Giving Michael one last hug, wrapping my arms tightly around his body, I quickly turn around and start running away from what would've been the scene of my demise.

"Who do you think you are..?" Even as I'm running, Echo's voice can still be heard. I don't turn around, even when I hear the horrible noise of metal slicing against backpack. I don't turn around, even when I hear Michael's panting.

Tears spring to my eyes. _I left him. I just left him! _I can't even reassure myself that it's what he wanted — because in the end, he's still dead and I did nothing to prevent that. _Stupid, stupid, stupid Ceres! _

When I finally feel like I'm far enough from the scene, and hear nobody chasing me, I force myself to turn around. In the distance, I can barely make out the figures of the Pack, all surrounding a boy swinging his backpack around to keep them away. I just stare, completely horrified, as a long-haired member of the Pack gets past his defenses and stabs him straight through the chest.

**BOOM!**

Michael's cannon sounds throughout the arena. And I know, that for as long as I live, I'll never be able to forget the sound of that cannon. I'll never be able to forget my ally's charming smile, or even his depressive pout.

I'll never be able to forgive myself for leaving him.

_I'm so sorry, Michael..._. Wiping the tears out of my eyes, I turn away from the scene and continue running through the grasslands of this nightmarish farm.

* * *

**Echo Woods, 17;**

**District Two Female.**

I slide my rapier out of the boy's chest, a long line of blood just oozing out. His dark blue eyes stare at me, filled to the brim with fear and sadness — and then, as he slumps to the ground and takes one final breath, a single tear slides down his cheeks.

**BOOM!**

The boy's cannon blows — and for a moment, the wind takes on a more erratic presence. That moment is over quickly, though, as it settles to its familiar cool breeze.

I wipe the blood off of my weapon and onto the boy's pants, sighing in dissatisfaction. Of _course_, instead of the tougher opponents, we just had to run into two of the youngest players left. It's good that this kid's now out of the equation, but I really was hoping to find someone like Vesper Quinn. Not only is it a good idea to eliminate the higher threats, but it'd be a lot more entertaining than fighting a thirteen-year-old wielding a backpack.

_A lot more entertaining? What are you talking about, Echo?_ I shake that thought out of my mind, momentarily complexed. _This isn't supposed to be entertaining. You don't even want to be here! _

That's right… I _don't_ want to be in these Games. All I want is for things to hurry up and end — meaning the rest of these tributes just need to hurry up and _die_. I'm not in this for the fun of killing or anything like that. Even I know how twisted that is...

_Do you really? Because you seemed pretty happy when you killed that girl in the Bloodbath. _I shake my head again, scowling at the reflection of myself on my rapier. I'm not... I don't _want_ to kill these people. I was just happy that I could do something for the benefit of the Capitol, that's all.

But still, I can't explain the rush of energy I got when killing that girl, or even the rush I got when I saw those two defenseless brats. It was just so _invigorating_, like I was letting out all of my pent-up frustrations with just one fatal blow.

_Look at what you're turning into. How do you think Reyna feels, watching her girlfriend morph into a sick murderer? _I tense up at the thought of Reyna; I hadn't thought about her since the night of the interviews. But she'll understand, right? I'm only doing this because our beloved Capitol _needs_ me to do this.

Above all, I'm doing this to get a chance to see her again. To go back home and live peacefully in Victor's Village with her. Reyna understands, right?

"Well then," Kostos mumbles, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "We just quadruple-teamed an unarmed thirteen-year-old. Anyone got any vodka for such a stunning victory?"

None of us find his joke very funny. If anything, it just makes my momentary euphoria at gaining another kill blow away with the wind. _Shut up, Kostos._

"He had... He had a backpack," Adeline practically whispers, obviously not as elated as I felt. The way she glances at the corpse and visibly fights back tears... It's just pitifully annoying.

"And what a fearsome backpack that was," Kostos replies, continuing to be a sarcastic pest. _Shut. Up. _"And Echo, is there some sort of vendetta you have against District Five? First the girl, and now you've killed the boy. I bet their entire district is _pleading _to have your blood spilled on the ground—"

"Can you shut up?!" I yell at my District Partner, who widens his eyes at my sudden exclamation. My irritation is literally at it's peak right now. I tried to put up with him and ignore the fact that I had to fight those two brats on my own, but I just can't do that when all he does is talk and talk and _talk_.

There is no time for idle chit-chat in this place! Why can't these idiots understand that? We're in the Hunger Games and the Capitol wants us to kill each other — so instead of playing stupid games and flirting, they should be acting more like the Pack they've agreed to be in! And since _I'm _the only one who seems to understand that — bar Terrance — _I'm _automatically called out to be the bad guy.

I spin around and glare at each and every one of my allies. "When I saw those two kids, you all should've ran alongside me. Instead, you all thought it'd be cool to take your sweet and precious time. And now? Now only one is dead, while that other girl got away!"

Somehow, Kostos finds the gall to snicker at my anger. In the Capitol, I think I would've put up with it. But now, I don't have the patience to do that anymore.

My rapier is at his throat in milliseconds. Just one push of my arm and his life would be over — but I refrain from killing him, if only to retain the least bit of sympathy I have. I don't think I particularly _need _him for me to win these Games, but still. I'm not evil.

"Stop laughing, because I'm dead serious right now." I make sure my voice matches the anger I feel deep inside. Thankfully, he seems to catch the hint, because his features immediately turn serious. "Good," I say, before removing my weapon from his jugular. "Now I want you all to listen very carefully."

There isn't a ghost of a smile on Kostos' face, and his hand is clenched tightly around his bow. Adeline looks like she's about to either start running or start crying — or _both_, by the way she's shaking. And Terrance, the only one who I can sincerely say I trust, has a barely noticeable smirk on his face.

Unlike my District Partner, I'll allow him to smile. He actually knows what needs to be done, unlike a certain blonde pair.

"Ever since coming here — actually, ever since leaving District Two — you've been nothing but a joke. One big _joke_, Kostos. I still don't understand why you volunteered, but at this point I couldn't care less. The Hunger Games aren't meant for playing and joking around, They're meant for _killing_. And by the way you hesitated to kill that District Seven girl during the Bloodbath, I just don't think you're cut out for this." I smile a little, realizing just how much I've been wanting to do this. I've been wanting to go off like this since day one. And finally, I've had enough. I can't keep biting back my irritation anymore. "Sorry, but you're out. You're just a nuisance to me at this point."

The impact of my words seem to hit everyone hard — even Terrance, who barely does anything other than look impassive. Adeline gapes, staring back and forth between Kostos and I, looking like she wants to say something but not having the courage to.

As for the man in question…

"I got a higher training score than you," he responds. I'm almost taken back by how serious he sounds. Almost.

"I don't see why. Everyone in the Capitol can tell who's the most competent just by _glancing _at us."

"You can't just kick me out!" For a second, he smiles, as if waiting for me to confess that this is just one big joke. But it's not one big joke. I can't deal with Kostos anymore. He needs to _go_.

"I think it's been clear who's the leader of this alliance since day one." I can't help it; I laugh. Call me a bitch, but there's just something really amusing about this. "And as leader, I say you're out. Bye."

Without even waiting for a response, I turn my gaze towards Adeline, who literally flinches. Just so pathetic.

"You can go with him, Adeline, since you're so fond of our blue-eyed hunk. I can tell it'll just _kill _you to be away from Kostos for even a second, so take this banishment as an opportunity to...further your relationship."

"Wh-What?" She blushes, but there's a small fire in her eyes that wasn't there before. "Y-You can't just… We're both v-valuable members of this alliance, and—"

I take a step towards the girl, interrupting her little speech. A spark of irritation travels throughout my veins when I remember that game from yesterday, and how she straight-up lied to my face. "There is absolutely _nothing _valuable about you. I don't know what kind of _training _they do in One, but obviously they need a better instructor."

She blushes even harder at the reminder of her so-called training. And without another word of disagreement, tears in her eyes, she nods.

I look towards Terrance, who gives me an approving smile. He already knows that I wouldn't cut him off of my team. I knew, since on the train coming here, that I'd work a hundred times better alone — but maybe it'll be better to have a former Peacekeeper on my side. It'll remind me of the normality of Two, at least, and I feel like that's something I need.

"Of course, our friend from District Nine is the only competent one out of you three. He'll be sticking with me." I look back towards Kostos and Adeline, the two people that have annoyed me since the moment I locked eyes with them. "Just to make things clear, you two are officially out of the Pack. This is a peaceful break-up, though, so there will be no fighting. The next time we see you two, though..."

I trail off. I think they already know. If Terrance and I see them again, I won't hesitate to shove my rapier straight through their bodies.

"Not much of a pack with just two members," says Kostos, frowning. He gives me what looks like a pout, before giving Terrance an almost disgusted look. "But if we're actually splitting on peaceful terms, then it's only fair that we get to go back to the Cornucopia for some supplies."

_Fair. _I snort, shaking my head. "Life isn't fair, Kostos. Terrance and I get the Cornucopia. You two get…" I motion towards the boy from Five and the backpack clenched tightly around his hands. "You two can have whatever's in there. Deal?"

"But—" Adeline tries to complain. One sharp glare from me shuts her right up, though.

"Think of it like this," Terrance says, his voice soft and yet strangely smug. He's talking straight to Kostos, ignoring the girl from One altogether. "As you wander around the Arena, struggling to find food, maybe you'll find out who you truly are. It's just what you wanted, right?"

Kostos doesn't answer — or rather, doesn't get the chance to answer. A soft _ding _cuts him off from whatever he's about to say. We all look up at the sky and stare at the parachute, flying right towards Kostos. With another one of those annoying smiles, Kostos quickly grabs the parachute and reads the note attached.

I clench my fists, wondering what that jackass Arsen could _possibly _say to Kostos right now. Something amusing, no-doubt, because my District Partner actually laughs.

"Don't worry, Adeline," he says, snickering, crumpling the note and tossing it to the ground. "We won't have to worry about anything. Come on, let's just go." The blonde girl looks totally confused at this sudden change of attitude. But when Kostos grabs her hands and starts walking away, she follows obediently.

I stare at the two of them, walking away without even one last look at us. _Good riddance, _I want to say, but I can't help feel a bit pissed at Kostos' knowing laugh. What could that note have possibly said?

Terrance gives me a bored look as I snatch the note from the ground and uncrumple it. It'd kill me not to know. And how come Heloise isn't sending me anything?!

_Don't worry about food or supplies. You're the most attractive male this year, with the highest training score and even a kill to your name. Sponsors are literally lining up to send whatever you ask for._

_As for Echo… I told you to kill that bitch when you had the chance._

— _Arsen._

"FUCKING BASTARD!" I rip the note into itty-bitty pieces, throwing it on the ground and then stomping on the remains. "When I get back home, I am going to _kill _you, Arsen!" It's not even the fact that he insulted me, but more-so the fact that Kostos and Adeline will be just as well-off as Terrance and I are. They won't have the best shelter, sure, but I wanted them to _suffer_.

Terrance places a hand on my shoulder. I look over at him, trying and failing to form words. When I can't seem to say anything worthwhile, I just sigh and start walking back to the barn. He follows at a steady pace, laughing a little.

_None of that matters, Echo, _I tell myself, trying to let a strange sense of peace overcome me. _From here on out, you don't have to worry about Kostos or Adeline. They're gone. And the next time you see them, they'll be dead._

That's what I need to focus on. Now, this so-called Pack is broken. Now, I can really focus on winning and going back home to Reyna.

No more distractions. The Games have truly begun.

* * *

**Michael Riverbee, 18th: MsAir, Michael was probably my absolute favorite tribute to develop. He started off as this bubbly kid, kinda normal, nothing at all that really stands out other than his cheerfulness — but as reality hit, and the Games got closer, he came face-to-face with his impending doom and sorta broke. He wasn't the same kid from Five anymore; the Capitol did what the Capitol does best and changed him. And this sadness didn't just come out of nowhere. Remember how he cried during the Reapings? I feel like it started right then, as soon as he got reaped, and slowly spiraled into a mild depression. Overall, Michael was just a great tribute to have around, and I really will miss him — both his cheerful side and his depressing side. May he seriously rest in peace. :')**

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**Author's Notes: Yeah, I have no idea how to feel about this chapter. It feels sloppily written, but I don't know why because I really did try my hardest to convey the emotion and action at the same time. I don't know. Hopefully you guys like it? I guess, in the end, it all depends on whether you all like my writing or not.**

**By the way, I want to say HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY TO LOKITHISISMADNESS (CLOE)! She's one of the many friends I made on this site, and honestly a day not talking (or arguing) with her just doesn't feel complete. So yay to Cloe!**

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_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**You're wandering around the Arena, trying to survive — but suddenly, you hear the Careers laughing! You turn around, and there they are, demanding for you to get on your knees and beg for your life. What do you do?**_

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**Also, guys, the blog should be updated with all the deaths and whatnot. (and even a better picture for Tet!) Check it out, eh? AND I made a blog for the Hunger Games Victors of this Verse! Check that out, too! Both links are at the top of this chapter. (since the fanfiction-link problem is still a thing, I'll be adding them both up there from now on)**

**And yeah, I managed to get 4 reviews last chapter. I'm really grateful and all, but that is a bit less than usual. I do spend quite a bit of time and energy on these chapters, so please try and tell me what you all think! Okay? :D**

**BAI!**


	23. Night Three

** acannoninthewind. blogspot. com**

** panemsgreatesthg. blogspot. com**

* * *

**Night Three.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Vesper Quinn, 18;**

**District One Male.**

The Capitol Anthem roars throughout the Arena, obnoxiously loud.

As I've been doing since the first night I got here, I poke my head out the window to see who the unlucky victim of today was. Silently, I hope it's a member of that stupid Pack — but realistically, I know how unlikely that is. If one of them is going to die, I realize that _I'm_ the one that's gonna have to do it.

And as usual, I'm right. Grinning widely is the boy from District Five, his pixelated face brightening up the night sky.

I sigh, retracting my head from the outside world and closing the window. _Of course it had to be one of the brats to die._ It's almost the fourth day in the Arena, and not a single contender is out! This year's Games are going along pretty slow, compared to most of the others. I don't think I can complain, though; considering I've done nothing but stay in this house, only leaving to collect rainwater, it's not like I'm doing anything to speed up the process.

I'm surprised, if anything. Except for yesterday, when I had to fight off hordes of stupid talking animals, there haven't been any real attempts at my life. I thought that my outburst during the interviews would attract that old Gamemaker's attention — but apparently, I was wrong.

_The Capitol just doesn't care about you, _says a rather soft voice in my head. It almost sounds like the twelve-year-old me. Shaking my head, I start pacing around the room — but I can't rid myself of that thought. They don't...care about me? But I practically called the entire country a bunch of idiots! Shouldn't I be having a more challenging time right now?

...The answer to that question, I realize, is a bitter _no_. Why should my angry words onstage have anything to do with my time in the Games? They don't give a damn what I say, almost as much as they don't care about what that girl from Six said. To them, I'm just a bitter eighteen-year-old boy who's only purpose is to bring entertainment. Why should my words mean anything to them?

I should be feeling relieved at the fact that I'm not being targeted, but I'm more angry than anything. Just like back in One, the Capitol doesn't give a fuck about the things I say or do. It stings. It brings back memories I'd rather keep locked in the closet.

"Fucking bastards," I grumble, feeling a strange surge of energy flowing through my veins. Anger, sadness, even regret — they all mix up into one overwhelming feeling as I kick and kick and _kick_ the wall in front of me.

_Why doesn't anyone care? Why? Am I really so fucking irrelevant that an old man can't even be bothered to press a button and blow me up? Am I really so unimportant that my so-called friends can't even convince their parents to let me stay with them? Is it really so hard for someone to just give me a bit of their fucking time?!_

_Why does nobody care about me?_

I don't know where these sudden emotions are coming from. Is it because I'm in a place that could be the site of my death? Is it because I'm finally feeling the effects of abandonment after years and years of loneliness? I don't know. Tears are streaming down my face, but I'm scowling at the wall in front of me as I continue to try and kick another hole in the building.

All I really want is to be acknowledged — even if the acknowledgment is negative, even when it annoys the hell out of me. My parents tried to give me the world — but the very _second_ they died, I was lost in a sea of people who just didn't care. My friends didn't care, their parents didn't care, and everyone else barely looked at me because _they just didn't care_.

I don't know why I didn't realize it before...but I guess it does make sense for me to be a little thirsty for attention. I don't even remember the last conversation I had back in One.

I stop kicking the wall, panting, wiping the tears out of my eyes. "Dammit," I mumble with a hollow chuckle. "They actually managed to hurt me without doing anything. I really, really hate the Capitol."

I seriously do.

About to go to sleep for the night, I start walking to the bed. Tomorrow, I just might leave this house and go hunting for other tributes. Not like I want to kill or anything, but I really do just want this thing to be over.

But suddenly, stopping me dead in my tracks, I hear a door in the house creak open. My breath hitches in my throat. _What_ is that?

Seconds later, I hear a nervous voice. "Hello? Is... Is anyone in here?"

A tribute, male, and on the older side of the spectrum. My mind goes through the possible options of who this person could be as I simultaneously grab my tomahawk off the bed. The guy from Twelve, the guy from Ten, the guy from Nine, the guy from Eight... _Shit_, there are too many options. If I knew it'd be such a problem in the future, I would've bothered to memorize every tribute's voice. Unfortunately, I didn't — and now some random guy is coming into my shelter in the middle of the night.

I can hear him slowly walk into the house, not bothering to close the door behind him. I grip the weapon in my hand, standing frozen in the middle of the room. It'd be stupid to go out there with it being so dark, because he could easily get the upper hand. When he opens the door to this room, _that's_ when I'll strike.

_But what if he doesn't do that? What if he just decides to stay somewhere else in the house?_

I silently exhale, furrowing my brows. That's just something I'll have to risk, because I am _not_ going out there. Not because I'm scared, but because I'm smart.

I wait for what seems like an eternity. Every so often, I feel like I can hear his soft footsteps, but then there are times when I want to believe he's gone. After waiting and waiting and _waiting_, I slowly lower my weapon, glaring at the door impatiently. Is he seriously not going to check in this room?

I'm about to stomp out there and give the intruder a piece of my mind — but just like that, my eyes catch onto the shine of the bronze doorknob slowly turning.

The door swings open. My heart beats harder than it's ever beaten before. _Kill him! _I don't even get a chance to see who it is; as soon as I get a glimpse of the shadowy figure in front of me, I swing my tomahawk to chop his head off.

"Ah!" The boy somehow manages to jump back, avoiding the fatal swing of my weapon. My tomahawk sinks deep into the wood of the door — and before I can pull it out, the boy dashes away.

_Shit! _Blood pumping, adrenaline coursing throughout my veins, I pull as hard as I can to get my weapon out of the door. But it won't budge. _You can't let him get away, _I tell myself, gritting my teeth. _Chase him! Hurry up!_

I shake my head and charge out the room, abandoning my tomahawk and sliding a long knife out of my pants. It's not as long and powerful as my weapon of choice, but it'll have to do.

I dash down the dark hallway, listening in for the boy's frantic footsteps. Upstairs. I run over to the dilapidated ladder and start climbing, ignoring how worn-out and wobbly it feels. My only objective, the only reason I'm even chasing this guy, is to kill and rid myself of another competitor. Everything else doesn't matter.

_This is the only thing that matters. _I crawl onto the second floor and immediately jump to my feet. Up here, there are no rooms, but instead boxes and boxes of old knit-knacks. That guy must've thought that he could escape up here — but no, the only escape for him is death.

He stands a few feet away from me, frowning, his dark eyes boring into my own. As my eyes get more and more accustomed to the darkness, his features start to become more and more distinguishable. The dark-skinned District Four guy. Wasn't he allied with those other two girls?

When he sees the knife in my hand, it's almost as if there's a war raging in his mind, before he slowly takes out a dagger of his own. I tense; if it's a fight he wants, it's a fight he's gonna get — but in the end, it doesn't even matter. He's already dead.

"...Well?" He says, practically croaking the word out. The trembling of his hands prove how scared he is, but the intensity of his eyes prove otherwise. "Are—?"

"Why are you in here?" I demand, interrupting whatever he was planning on saying. I don't know why I'm talking; every bone in my body is telling me to run up and stab him in the chest, but it's like there's something else in pit of my mind, nagging at me to...to...

He shifts. "I didn't think there was anyone else here. Not... Not _you_, at least." The way he says that, like I'm some sort of monster, almost makes me laugh. Almost.

"Well, I'm here." _Stop talking. This is pointless. Kill him! _"Now what?"

His brows furrow. He takes so long to respond that I almost think he's not going to say anything at all — but then, a humorless smile settles on his face. "You could let me leave?"

For some reason, the thought of him walking out of this house and forgetting all about this encounter fills me with dread. I can't let that happen; I don't know why, but the feeling of neglect is overwhelming me right now. I know, in the end, he's going to die if I'm going to win — but I just can't rid myself of my earlier thoughts. _Nobody_ in this world cares about me, no matter what I do.

I grip the knife in my hand. _I'll make them care. _

Without even answering his question, I charge at the guy. He stumbles back, shocked, and that's all the advantage I need to raise my knife and stab at his chest. Fortunately for him, he clumsily blocks my strike with his own knife. Metal grinds against metal as he pushes my weapon away and fearfully stabs at my shoulder. _Move! _I side-step, just barely dodging what could've been very painful. A long, thin line of blood cuts down my arm, though. _He got me._

It's my turn to strike. We're close, almost face-to-face, his eyes widened and swimming with emotion. I look away; I can't hesitate, not now, not _ever_. Stabbing at his torso, I scowl when he backpedals, putting space between us and inadvertently saving his life. _Just die! _I don't give him any chance to breathe. As soon as I catch my footing, I rush him and slash at his eye.

He's fast — fast at running, but not at fighting. He tries to evade the attack by bringing his head back, but my knife connects with his cheek and forms a pretty deep gash along the side of his face. He screams, bringing his knife up and slashing frantically, doing anything to get away from me. For a moment, I just stare at him as he brings a trembling hand to his bleeding face and winces.

_He won't forget that. He'll care. The Capitol will care. _I don't know where I gained this complex from — but at the moment, I don't care. Not know, when I'm seconds away from ending a boy's life and proving myself as more than a shit-talker.

"D-Do we really have to do this?" He asks, voice soft, staring at the floor instead of at me. I'm about to respond when, all of a sudden, _he_ charges at _me_ and quickly slashes at my chest.

I don't feel the pain, not at first. At first, all I can feel is the heat spreading across my body and the indignation flowing through my veins. But then, like a waterfall, the scorching pain hits me and forces a loud, guttural scream out the pits of my throat. _He actually got me!_ My vision goes red and blurry, matching the blood pooling out of my chest, and a terrifying feeling of anger lodges deep inside of my brain.

I don't think, I just move. I run up and stab at his neck. He parries my blow and knocks my knife to the floor. Undeterred, I pounce on him, tackling him down to the floor and _slamming_ my fist into his nose. He screams — and at the back of my mind, I realize that I should watch out for the knife still in his hands. But the fiery anger is too great and I punch and punch and _punch_ until my hands are wet with blood that's not my own and he's screaming and I'm screaming and—

Something hard and meaty slams into my temple, knocking me right off of him. I fall on the dusty wooden floor, groaning, my vision blurred and a non-stop ringing in my ears. Pain is erupting all throughout my body, and the stickiness of blood makes me squirm uncomfortably.

I should be getting up and doing something. But I literally can't. I'm exhausted, and hurting, and I think he punched my equilibrium off because everything is spinning. So I don't do anything except lie on the floor, my groans mixing in with the District Four boy's pain-filled moans.

_This is so stupid. _Another wave of anger hits me, but this time it's for the Capitol. How dare they force us to fight like wild animals? How dare they force us to _kill_ each other? I'm not above doing anything if my life is on the line, but it's the fact that I don't have a fucking _choice_. It's always the Capitol who decide what happens, always the Capitol who decide which lives get fucked. And I hate it. I hate, hate, _hate_ them.

_I'm not going to let them decide anymore._

"Stay here," I mumble. I can tell, as soon as the words leave my mouth, that the Capitol is displeased. They wanted death and blood. I'm not giving it to them.

It takes a moment for the District Four boy to respond. "...What?"

"Stay here. I'm letting you stay here, in this house. I'm not going to kill you." I exhale, more pain prickling across my chest. "We can... We can momentarily ally."

He's going to die. I'm not distancing myself from that fact. I'm going to win, and he's going to die. But it doesn't have to be now. Life is cruel and pointless — but for once, I can enjoy the time I have left. I won't let the Capitol continue to take away my energy, day by day.

"After... After we just tried to _kill_ each other?" He exclaims incredulously. I can tell by the way he keeps pausing that his face is in excruciating pain, but so is my chest so we're about even.

"Or you can leave, I don't care." I _do_ care. I don't want to be alone anymore, I realize. I don't want to wither away in this house and become someone evil. Because I might be abrasive, but I'm not evil. I'm _still_ human. "I'm just... I'm done playing by their twisted ass game. I'm done."

Slowly, I crawl to my feet, wincing every five seconds at the mess of blood on my shirt. I'm going to need bandages, bandages I _don't_ have. At least I have painkillers. Looking over to the District Four boy, I notice his knife a few feet away. _That's_ why he didn't stab me when I was on top of him.

I dust myself off, trying to endure the pain. And then, I stare at the dark-skinned boy, the same boy who was seconds away from killing me. He slowly sits up, wiping the blood off of his face, and then stares at me with his dark eyes. For a moment, we just stare at each other, knowing what must ultimately be done but neither of us really wanting to do it.

"Can I... Can I think about it?" He asks me.

I snort.

"No. Either say yes and sleep up here for the night, or say no and get the fuck out."

There's silence between us as he tries to answer my suggestion. I roll my eyes, suddenly tired of standing, and turn around. I can't deal with this. I'm slowly losing blood, the pain is unbearable, and I'm fucking exhausted. If he wants to think about this all night, he can. I don't even care anymore.

Whatever he ends up doing, I can sleep easy tonight knowing that I spoiled the Capitol's fun. They should've killed me when they had the chance.

* * *

**Eion Daltier, 18;**

**District Twelve Male.**

It's the third night of the Hunger Games, and we're still alive.

_I'm_ still alive.

I don't know when I started thinking in terms of myself and not the entire group, but it's unnervingly become easier and easier by the day. I mean, I love Isabel and Ricky like I've known them my entire life — but when the deaths start to show every night, it reminds me that these two people I've grown to care about will eventually have to die if I'm going to make it back home.

It's a horrible thought, but it's impossible to clear out out of my mind. Not here. In the Capitol, I could be my charming self and pretend that nothing bad would happen, that everything will somehow end up okay. It's procrastination at its finest level, sure, but I _am_ ultimately just a teenage boy. And us teenage boys procrastinate.

Here in the Arena, though, it's like every shadow is a clear reminder of death and gore.

I see myself as a positive person — but this place can make the most hardened optimists break into tears.

I want it to end. I want this terrible, horrifying, inhumane game to end. And yet, at the same time, I _don't_ want it to end. Because when the Fifth Hunger Games come to a close, I'm either dead or my two friends here are dead. And I can't... I just can't deal with the whirlwind of emotions that'll wreck my mind if Isabel and Ricky die.

_But you'll have to deal with it, _I can hear Adina say, watching me on her family's television. She's always been the most intellectual of my group of friends, the one that knows what needs to be done and how to do it. _You don't want to die, do you? If not, you need to mourn for your friends right now, because you can't let their impending doom stop you from coming back home._

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Shut up!" I yell, slapping myself against the head. Multiple times. Anything to get rid of my friend's mature voice. It's so painful — because I _know_ she's right, I _do_, and it makes me absolutely nauseous to think of my two friends as corpses. I've always been the guy to act on impulse, to use my emotions as the strength to keep going. I can't realistically dehumanize Isabel and Ricky. I can't. I _know_ I can't, I _know_ I'll never be able to handle their deaths — and yet the thought of my death is _so_ much scarier, so _dark..._

...And then there's the thought of me actually being able to cope with their demise and win this. That scares me, too, because that means the Capitol would have successfully turned me into their perfect little tool. I refuse to change for their enjoyment. All of my morals, my entire life back in Twelve... I can't just throw that away.

_And that's why you're dead, _I hear Adina say, loud and clear. Her voice has never sounded so cruel before. It's the Capitol's influence. It's like just being in this place is enough to fill your brain with horrible thoughts.

"Eion!" Isabel exclaims, forcing me out of my thoughts. I blink back into consciousness and force my eyes to concentrate on both Ricky and my District Partner. "A-Are you alright? You just started hitting your head and screaming..."

Usually, I'd tell Isabel exactly what's wrong. I'd tell her how scared I am, that I can't realistically be the leader she and Ricky expects me to be. I never, _ever_ keep my emotions to myself — but somehow, I manage a thin smile and nod.

"I'm... I'm fine," I lie, feeling a sharp spike of guilt eat at my torso. I can't possibly tell them what's bothering me, no matter how much I want to. If I'm not the one to lead this group, who will? One of my strengths is how perceptive I am, and I know for a fact that my two allies can't handle the responsibilities of leadership. Isabel would crumble, and Ricky would curl into himself. I'm the only one who can take on this daunting job.

If I don't, I'd have given up. And I can't bear the thought of giving up. I can't bear the thought of all _three _of us dying.

"If you… If you need anything…" Ricky's quiet voice carries to my ears. I look over at him, and he gives me one of his signature small smiles. "Um, there are still a few berries in the bush outside. I-I could go and—"

"No, no, I'm fine." Forcing a grin on my face, I get up and sit beside my ally from Ten, bringing my arm around his shoulders. He tenses at first, but then he slowly relaxes. Ricky should be use to my random displays of friendship by now, honestly.

Right now, we're in this dark dilapidated house — the one right in front of the pond. We've been taking shelter in here ever since the bloodbath, only going out to snag berries from the bush outside and to get water from the pond. There were a few talking animals outside, too, strangely enough. They were friendly, showing us the different type of berries we could find and which ones were dangerous to eat. Though it was a bit unnerving, we found ourselves slowly trusting the animals.

That is, until the second day of the arena. When we woke up, it was storming outside, and the animals had gone insane. They started screaming very choice words at us, calling Isabel a useless bitch and Ricky a stuttering coward. Being the guy I am, I started screaming things back at them, angered by the fact that they dared said those horrible things to my friends. A fight broke out. Isabel ran away, terrified, while I grabbed Ricky and led him to the kitchen. Both of us armed with butchering knives, we fought the animals head-on.

I shiver at the memory of those animals, gutted open and bleeding all over the floor, screaming at us even when their lives were slowly fading away. Their blood, running down my hands, stained on my arena outfit…

"You… Are you okay?" Ricky asks, talking low. I open my mouth to respond candidly, to tell him that I'm _not _okay, that nobody in this place could _possibly _be okay, that I'll _never _be okay.

But I don't — because the arena changes everyone, and it's trying to change me so fervently. I know that telling my allies all of my fears would just make the mood a thousand times drearier. I know that if I were to start talking, I wouldn't be able to stop. I wouldn't be able to control my raging emotions.

And I can't break down. I want to; it'll be a relief; but I _can't_.

"Yeah, I'm cool," I lie, giving him another one of my signature grins. "Just cold."

Cold with fear, I should say, but the look Isabel gives me makes me reconsider that thought. She's always so fidgety, especially now that we're in the arena, and I don't need her to think I'm not the same confident Eion she befriended in the Capitol. I don't particularly know what Ricky's response would be, but it's her I'm most worried about. I know about her insecurity issues, and how if it wasn't for me, she would've died in the bloodbath.

I'm always trying to make her feel better about herself, but it's getting harder to do that when I'm starting to feel the effects of being in here so long.

"So," I begin, trying to start up a conversation. Right now, we're all stuffed up in this room, because it was pretty much decided that staying together would be the safest thing to do right now. "What now? Who died today, Isabel?"

My district partner looks up from her hands, casting me an almost nervous look. "Um," she starts, voice low. "The District Five boy, Michael…"

The fact that she remembered his name almost makes me feel bad about myself. I only remember London because she's Ricky's hilarious but competent district partner, and I remember the names of the Pack because they're the most dangerous. But that's it.

"So that makes seventeen tributes left," Ricky says, before turning a deep shade of red when our gaze turns to him. "I, well, I used to work as a cashier so…"

"So you're good with math." I don't know why, but I laugh. Maybe it's another way of me trying to get things back to normal, even when I know things will never be back to normal. "That's so...you."

At this, Ricky actually chuckles. "Thanks?"

We continue the small-talk for a while, which is basically just me talking and Ricky giving a short response. Isabel doesn't say anything — but when I look at her, she discreetly gestures to the air around us. I understand immediately; she knows that we're more-than-likely being recorded and broadcasted, and if I know anything, it's that Isabel despises attention.

I'm about to open my mouth, tell her that she shouldn't be shy of the...people that are watching us. But suddenly, before I can speak, a loud _creak _reverberates through the house and breaks open our peaceful silence.

_Someone's coming in the house. _Isabel jumps up, her being closest to the door, and rushes over to where Ricky and I are. There's a terrified, wide look in her eyes. Quickly, both Ricky and I stand up, staring at the wooden door in front of us. _Who is it? Is it the Pack? What are they going to do?_

I don't really have time to think. Before either of us can plan our next course of action, the door to our room flies open. Standing there, with her face in a tight grimace, is the little girl from Six. For a second, it's as if time stops as we stare at her and she stares at us. Just from looking at her, I can tell she's been through a lot more things than we have.

"...No." With that simple word, the girl from Six slams the door and I can hear her footsteps walking right back out of the house.

I don't say anything; I clench the knife that I unknowingly picked up from the floor, letting out a breath of relief. Thank _Panem_ it was only her and not some psychopath. I know we've had it pretty lucky so far, considering all the past Games, but I'm still not ready to actually fight another tribute for my life...

"That was intense," I say with a small chuckle, hiding the misery out of my voice. With a sigh, Isabel falls to the floor, hugging her knees. I know she won't be in the right mindset to do anything for a while, not after what just happened. And Ricky...

I glance at the boy from Ten. In his trembling hands, too, is a knife. When he catches my gaze, he sorta smiles and grimaces at the same time. I grin back — and this time, just like old times, it's a real grin.

At least I have him to watch my back. I might be slowly cracking, day by day, but one thing will at least stay the same. Our friendship won't crumble under the foot of the Capitol.

* * *

**Daniel Church, 17;**

**District Seven Male.**

"And another day passes," I mumble, as my younger ally and I walk through the deserted grasslands. I wait for a response, but then silently ridicule myself immediately after. Of course he's not going to say anything.

Tet hasn't said much since that muttation attack. I don't know whether he's traumatized over the fact that he killed a living creature or traumatized over the fact that he was so close to being eaten alive. Whatever it is, it's made him a lot quieter than he already is, with an almost haunted look in his eyes.

I'm worried about him, but there's only so much I can do before I border on annoying. I'll let him have his space. When the time is right, he'll be back to his usual quiet but helpful self.

_If you even have any time left. Look at where you are, Daniel. _I instantly block that thought out of my mind. I can't dwell much on the ticking clock of mortality; I can't dwell much on anything until I get revenge for Iris.

She's _dead_. Every time I close my eyes, I can _hear_ her piercing scream, _see_ her body sprawled across the floor. I was there, right there — and yet, due to my arrogance, I let my allies slip from my mind. I thought they'd be alright. I didn't... There was no doubt in my mind that any of them would die in the bloodbath. And yet, as I was busy fighting against Kostos, Vesper took that opportunity to murder her.

Hate is such a strong word, but it's the only word I can think to use at this moment. Absolute loathing courses through my veins whenever I think of that District One guy. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to eliminate him from this competition.

You reap what you sow, after all.

"Well, I suppose we can rest here for the night," I say, gesturing to the vast expanse of grasslands. Not like there's many options to choose from. I glance down at my ally from Three, who's as despondent as usual. "You should get some rest. Don't worry, I'll take the first shift."

"Okay." With blunt indifference, Tet drops his backpack to the ground and zips it open, taking out a small blanket. It came with the sponsored medicine. Thinking of it, my gaze lowers down to Tet's arm, meticulously bandaged by yours truly. He doesn't complain about it, but I have enough medical experience to know that it still hurts, if only slightly.

I look away and up at the dark sky, clouds floating overhead. Today, Michael Riverbee from District Five died. I remember asking him and the girl from Six, Ceres, if they wanted to join us. Michael wanted to, initially, but changed his mind when Ceres quietly pointed out all the negatives of working with us.

I close my eyes, momentarily praying for the small boy. _Rest in peace._

When I open my eyes, that moment of kindness vanishes. I can't focus on the other tributes anymore. It's the third night of the arena, and all I need to worry about is Tet, myself, and avenging my departed ally. Everything else is background.

_Even Calla._

I stiffen at the memory of my district partner. She was always so friendly, so smart, so _good_. There aren't too many good things in this world anymore, but she was one of the rare ones. And now, because of my mindless rage at Iris' death, she's dead. And I don't even know who killed her.

It makes me sick to not even _know_. I want revenge _so_ bad — and yet the only thing I can blame is myself.

I always told my brother that being a vindictive person was not the way to go, that it'd only lead to more dead people — but now that I've actually experienced loss, it's the only thing I feel will make me whole again. This world doesn't target anyone specifically, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling attacked right now.

I toss my backpack to ground, sighing as I sit down and hug my knees. It's a very unbecoming image, but for once, I don't really care about my image. I'm in the Hunger Games. I'm in the Hunger Games, fighting for my life against other teenagers. Because my brother was hardheaded and irrationally ambitious, I volunteered to save him from what I assumed was nothing but bad. I volunteered to save him from his own inner demons.

I want to say that I made the right choice, that nothing is too much for Luke. But did I really? He wanted to volunteer. He wanted this madness — all for a bigger goal, of course, but still. And here I am, wrought with anger and guilt, with a despondent thirteen-year-old genius as my only living ally.

_You don't want to be here. _I wince at the voice of Luke, ever so blunt. _You idiot. I was going to change this world, and you just ruined it. All the hundred of kids that'll die in the Hunger Games from now on, it'll be your fault!_

_Your fault that Iris died. Your fault that Calla died. _

_Your fault that Tet will die. _

Clenching the medallion around my neck, I bite back a sob. I _don't_ need this kind of drama. I don't need to be in this damned arena, killing innocent kids just to keep my own neck. I don't need to be feeling guilt over both of my allies' death. I don't need to be doing the bidding of the Capitol, when they're the most evil beings in this universe.

And yet, that's exactly what I'm going to do. If not, I'm going to die — and pretentious I may be, I am _not_ a Marty. I do _not_ want to die. I don't want the deaths of Iris and Calla weighing on my mind, either, which is why I'm going to eliminate— no, _kill_ Vesper Quinn. I'm going to kill him.

If I don't, I'll break down. I need him to die. I need to regain my good conscious.

"Where is he?" I ask the invisible cameras around me, standing up. I look around at the arena around me, silent save for a few crickets. "Please," I beg, feeling my voice take on a whimpering tone. "Where is Vesper Quinn?!"

I don't expect an immediate answer. I expect for nothing to happen and for me to sit back on the ground, embarrassed and suffering. But suddenly, like a beacon of light on the stormy sea, I hear a soft _ding_ and see a small parachute fly down towards me.

I grab the parachute, tossing the note away — it was something irrelevant, no doubt — and gaze my eyes on the best thing I've seen since coming here. A map of the arena, with a small compass attached. I grin, reading the paper as best as I can under the moonlight. There's the Cornucopia/Barn right in the middle of the place. Situated evenly around the Barn, miles and miles apart, are three houses with a pond in front of one of them. To the left of the Arena seems to be large tree, while to the right is what looks like a sea of crops.

One of the houses are circled, though, with the letter _V_ written beside it. And almost at the edge of the map is another circle, with the word "_you"_ written next to it. My smiles gets bigger, extraordinarily so. With this map, I'm going to find Vesper. With this map, I'm going to kill him.

It's the only thing I can do at this point. It's the only way I can regain the sense of composure I've managed to keep up my entire life, despite everything that's happened to me.

Tomorrow, Vesper Quinn is going to die.

* * *

**No Deaths.**

* * *

**Author's Notes: Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait of this chapter. Summer is officially over for me, and starting this Monday I'll be back in school. It sucks, I know. Of course, being me, I procrastinated dreadfully on my summer assignments and had to spend quite a bit of my time working on them instead of writing. So yeah, I'm sorry. ;-;**

**I'd also like to apologize if this chapter seemed bad or lazy. I kinda wanted to rush through this, because nothing was happening (other than the first POV) and it was pretty boring to write. Thankfully, things REALLY speed up after this chapter. Prepare for a lot of action and angst, everyone!**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**You're walking around the arena, and that's when you see a little twelve-year-old girl, crying. She recently lost her allies to the Careers. You know killing her would be so easy, but do you really want to hurt this little girl? What do you do?**_

* * *

**Well, I guess that's all I'm going to say. I don't know when I'll next update. Depends on how much work I have at school, and maybe even the amount of reviews I get. *wink***

**Bai!**


	24. Day Four

**acannoninthewind. blogspot. com  
panemsgreatesthg. blogspot. com**

* * *

**Day Four.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Caio Artelle, 17;**

**District Four Male.**

"So you're staying with me then?" Vesper questions as soon as I climb the ladder downstairs. All I do is nod, trying not to squirm under his icy stare or look at the bloodied sheets tied around his upper body. Last night doesn't even feel real; all I can make out is the bright shine of our knives, electrifying pain, and crimson red blood.

Unconsciously, I move my hand towards my nose, and then wince at the jolt of agony that travels across my face. When I looked at my reflection in the life-sized mirror upstairs this morning, all I could see was shades of black and blue bruises covering my chocolate brown skin. It _hurts_ — and it hurts even more knowing I wouldn't have even acquired these wounds if I'd just stayed with Ula and Kaya.

I usually regret my decisions, but it's physically painful how much I regret that one.

The one good thing I can think of, though, is the fact that I'm still alive. Vesper could've easily killed me last night, he really could have — but instead, he spared my life and decided to ally with me. Now I'm in another alliance with the scary guy who killed the little girl from Three and nearly chopped my own head off.

_Are you really making the right decision, Caio? What's stopping him from using that axe to slice you open right now?_

I try to ignore the indecisive paranoia that always manages to creep at the back of my mind. It's the reason I mistrusted Ula and Kaya enough to abandon them. It's the reason I decided to come into this dilapidated house rather than just stay outside. I'll be damned if I miss an opportunity to finally feel secure just because of my conflicted nature.

I… I don't think I can win the Hunger Games alone. Last night was a clear reminder of my mortality. But with Vesper, I may just have a chance. I may be able to go back home to my hardworking mom and my beloved twin sister. I may be able to see Bianca again, the girl who I've had a crush on since I was just fourteen-years-old.

And looking at Vesper now, with his scrutinizing blue eyes, makes me think of Bliss. He was, _is_, my best friend and the only one I can truly trust besides my family. Tall, brooding, cynical — him and Vesper could be brothers.

"Yeah, I'm staying," I say, breaking the tense silence between us. With a seriousness that even surprises myself, I stare Vesper head-on. "We can forget about last night, right? I'm...sorry about your chest."

"And I'm sorry about your face," he grunts.

With that out of the way, Vesper motions for me to follow him towards the window. I do, taking quick strides to keep up — and when I see the rain pounding against the glass, and the streak of lightning flashing in the distance, I almost blanch. I heard the rain when I woke up this morning, but I didn't think it'd be as bad as it was last time.

"As you can see, that old Gamemaker is fucking with the weather again," Vesper begins, looking more and more exhausted with each word. I hadn't realized it before, but he really doesn't look to be in tip-top shape. "But are we going to let that stop us? Hell no. I've run out of food, and I don't think you have any either."

The grumbling of my stomach answers that question pretty quickly. I haven't eaten anything since… Shit, I'm _really _hungry. Another reason why I shouldn't have left Ula and Kaya.

"Exactly. So our plan for today is to go out there, ambush any tributes trying to hide out from this weather, and steal their food. Agreed?" The way he asks me for approval doesn't really leave any real room for discussion. It's either we do what he says or I die.

And for once, I don't spend hours trying to contemplate this question. "Agreed," I say, nodding. We stare at each other one last time, his axe in his hand and my knife in mine, before we both break away and head towards the front door.

_Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong._ That's what Bliss used to always say. He would regularly rant about the injustices of our society, telling me that nobody in Panem could ever truly have a good life. He would say that every plan for a better future was bound to fail, that every friendship would eventually end, that any amount momentary happiness you feel was bound to shrivel up and turn into melancholy before you knew it. In some ways, Bliss was more paranoid than myself.

As I open the door, rain and wind hitting me right in the face, I can practically hear my friend's deep chuckles. He would have know something like this was going to happen. He would have known.

"Fancy encountering you two here, huh?" The volunteer guy from District Seven, Daniel, stands a few yards away away. In his hands is a large, intimidating sword — and standing next to him, a small dagger in his equally small hands, is the blank-faced boy of District Three.

_Fuck_.

Vesper doesn't even tense; he just stares at Daniel, a mild annoyance flashing in his blue eyes. With the wind and rain whipping his blond hair everywhere, and the sheets around his chest getting absolutely soaked, I realize he doesn't even look like the ferocious guy from last night. He looks… He looks so _tired_.

And believe it or not, I'm worried.

I whip my gaze back towards Daniel and Tet, the latter almost hiding behind his much bigger ally. I stare at them, wondering what they could want and why they're just standing there and looking at us. They can't possibly be wanting a fight, right? I know it's the Hunger Games and everything, but…

Daniel unlatches his sharp eyes away from Vesper and locks onto me instead. I try not to flinch. I try to meet his stare head-on, showing nothing but an intense determination to fight for my life. But the way he looks at me, analyzing me…

_This isn't for me. He's out for blood. They're all out for blood. I need to run. I need to run, run, run..! _I take a small step back — but just like that, images of my family come back to me. All of us hunched over, taking a public whipping because of my father's cowardice. He ran away. And in return, we were punished for it.

I can't become like him. I know I may die, I know I'm _definitely _out of my element here, but I wholeheartedly refuse to run away!

Daniel eventually looks away, once again locking eyes with my temporary ally. "It appears you've picked up a little someone, huh?" Referring to me no-doubt, the boy from Seven snorts. "That doesn't matter. You already know what's coming for you."

"If you come near us, you're dead," Vesper responds, anger flashing across his face. "Now get the hell away."

"You know that can't happen, Vesper. You killed Iris and—"

"So what?! How come she has a better reason at staying alive than I do?! How come you care about that little bitch so much when you've only known her for a _week?! _Grow a fucking pair and move the fuck on! It's the _Hunger Games,_ for goodness' sake! Did you expect her to win?! Were you going to die for her?!" Vesper has lost it, I can tell. I don't know what it is that's made him lose his composure so fast — but he's lost every bit of it, and I realize now that this isn't going to end smoothly.

Daniel wants Vesper dead for killing Iris. Vesper isn't just going to submit to that. And what about me? Will my temporary alliance with Vesper make Daniel want me dead, too? And will Tet end up getting involved?

_Should you intervene? Should you run? _No, no running. But does that mean I can actually fight alongside Vesper against the guy who scared a _7_ during training and the thirteen-year-old who matched my own score of _5_?

I don't have time to think about it. I blink back into reality, just as Daniel charges at Vesper and I. The look in his eyes is cold, downright bloodthirsty — and mixed in with the rain and wind and thunder, he looks terrifying.

_Move! _I jump to the right, narrowly escaping Daniel's slash of his sword. Vesper doesn't dodge like me, though; he meets Daniel's slash head-on and parries the blow with his axe. Daniel swipes again, and again, and _again_, doing everything in his power to take my ally's life away. Vesper fights back, though, blocking all of Daniel's attacks with his own weapon and even taking a few attempts at hurting Daniel as well.

The fight is moving a bit to the left of the house, away from sight. I jerk my head away, silently scolding myself for getting so transfixed — and staring at me, a few yards away, is the boy from Three. Tet. He has the knife held tightly in his hands, his face deadpanned despite the events going on around us. Immediately, the knife in my own hands feel a thousand times heavier.

_You know what to do, Caio. He's five years younger than, as well on Daniel's side. _Any second of contemplation could be deadly, I realize that. With my jaw set and a mountain of guilt weighing on my shoulders, I march towards Tet. In the end, he's just another competitor. In the end, he'll be dead if I'm going to win.

_Look at what you're turned into. _

"You're going to kill me?" Tet asks the moment I get close enough, so close that I could reach out and touch him. The question shocks me; who asks something like that? Before I can respond, though, a prickle of paranoia stabs at the back of my mind.

I whip my head around, just in time to see Daniel rushing towards us, his eyes narrowed. I cry out in shock, unconsciously bringing my knife up and inadvertently blocking his sword from cutting into my neck. The sound of metal grinding against metal overwhelms the rain, the wind, the thunder, _everything_. All I can focus on is Daniel and I, our weapons pushing against each other, the adrenaline coursing throughout my entire body.

He's stronger than me, though. With a cry of anger, he brings his sword back and slams it against my knife, knocking the measly blade out of my hands. I stumble back, surprised — and Daniel uses this momentary shock to slash at my head once more.

I just barely manage to jump out of the way, but a burning jolt of pain hits my left ear the moment I do. _Did he just cut off a piece of my ear?! _Tears welling up in my eyes, I clumsily try and put more space between us — and thankfully, Daniel doesn't pursue. He just stares at me, irritation coming off his body in ghostly wisps.

"Don't you _dare_ lay a hand on him," he tells me, his voice coming across as both calm and hateful.

My mouth is frozen in fear; I don't even know if my vocal chords are possible of working. What do I even say to a guy who could so easily take a few steps towards me and end my life? And what about Vesper? What happened to him?

"Do you honestly know what you're getting yourself into, staying here and fighting me?" Daniel continues, apparently using this lag in the fight to scold me. "You almost killed a thirteen-year-old boy. _Killed_. I know you're not that kind of person, Caio."

The fact that he knows my name doesn't even comprehend. All I can focus on is the severity of his words, how I almost just took a young boy's life away. What is wrong with me? Why didn't I think things through like I always do? Why am I moving on pure instinct when I know how high the stakes are? My life, my humanity — I can't just carelessly go with the flow when those things constantly in trouble?

"Run, Caio." Daniel's calm face has slowly morphed into a more understanding look, but his eyes are still as dark and cold as it was when he got here. "You don't want to get involved with someone like Vesper. In the end, I guarantee he'll kill you, just like how he killed my ally. Get away from this fight before it's too late. I know you like to think things through before you do something — so use that intelligent brain of yours and realize just how detrimental Vesper will be to your survival."

I'm at a loss for words. The way Daniel relayed that all to me, how elegantly and efficiently he did it... It almost makes me want to run. It makes me want to do what I should have done last night. Why did I decide to stay with Vesper again? I honestly can't remember. Just like with Ula and Kaya, staying here will ultimately drive me insane.

But yet, as Daniel and Tet both stare at me, the environment around us changes. Instead of the depressing gray clouds overhead and the drenching rain, we're in a desolate war-zone. There are gunshots ringing in my ears, screams of pain and anger filling the sky. I'm in a _war_. Just like my dad, when he abandoned his squad and got them all killed. Just like my dad, when he was eventually prosecuted for his rebellious past and got his entire family punished for it.

I promised myself I would never be like him. I promised myself that I would fight, that I'd never give up, that I'd win the Hunger Games without turning into a coward. _But aren't you already a coward? Like it or not, Caio, his blood runs through your veins. You're already just like him._

"Go to Hell!" Vesper suddenly screams, coming out of nowhere and releasing me from my dangerous thoughts. There's a gash on the right side of his torso, dripping with blood — but as he rushes towards Daniel, axe gripped tightly in his hands, it's almost as if he doesn't feel it himself.

Daniel regards Vesper coolly, bringing his sword up in what must be an intimidating gesture. The boy from One doesn't slow down, however. Instead, he rises in speed, getting so close to Daniel that I'm sure he's about to tackle him. But he doesn't. He changes course at the last second and swings his axe straight towards Tet.

For a nanosecond, it's like the world freezes.

I widen my eyes, staring at the scene, awaiting the gruesome demise of the boy from Three. It never comes, though. Tet somehow manages to duck under Vesper's strike, insanely quick, and then shove his knife straight into Vesper's bleeding torso.

Vesper screams, so loud and painfully saddening that I cringe. _Help him! _I think, but my legs won't move. In the back of my mind, I know that Daniel was right. I know that trying to help Vesper will only get me killed. And I don't want to die.

_I really, really don't want to die._

"_Augh!_" The boy from District One falls on the wet grass, not screaming anymore but moaning in unadulterated agony. Tet takes a few steps back, still clutching the now-bloodied knife in his hands. His eyes are still deadpanned, still emotionless, and I can't help but wonder what would have happened to me if I decided to strike out at the boy.

"Good job, Tet," Daniel says, softly placing his hand on his ally's shoulder. Tet looks up and smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. The boy from Seven looks away from his ally and stares at Vesper, who's moaning on the ground. "As for you..."

_If you don't move now, he's dead. _Despite my thoughts, I stay completely still, watching the scene play out in front of me.

"Caio!" Vesper howls, trying and failing to crawl away. The pain is just too strong, and Daniel is just too close. "Caio, help me! _Help me, dammit!_"

I want to move. I want to move so, so bad. But I don't. Even if I did, it wouldn't have mattered; Daniel raises his sword, whispers something I can't hear, and then lowers the weapon. The sword plunges straight through Vesper Quinn's head, immediately silencing his pleading.

**BOOM!**

I look away from the sight, biting back tears. He's _dead_. The boy who fought me, almost killed me, but spared me. The boy who reminded me so much of my friend back home. Vesper Quinn from District One is _dead_.

It's all my fault, isn't it? Because of my indecisiveness, I didn't step in, and now he's dead. I let Daniel manipulate me out of action. I... _I'm_ the reason he's dead. _I_ killed him.

Feeling the tears stream down my cheeks, I stare at Daniel and Tet with watery eyes. They're both just standing there, looking at me, the latter frowning while the former looks strangely energized. How could they seriously murder a guy like that? How can they justify something like that?

_Run. _Without a single word, I pick up my knife from the ground and turn around. _Run. _My awkward stumbling quickly turns into a jog, which then turns into a run, and finally turns into an all-out sprint. I run as fast and as far as I can, not looking behind me, hoping and praying that they aren't following me.

By the time my lungs can't hold out any longer, I'm drenched from head-to-toe with sweat and rain. I stop running in what looks like the middle of nowhere, with nobody and nothing around me except for my own demons. Daniel and Tet didn't follow me, at least.

Still, I feel heavy with guilt. I feel absolutely _horrible_. Not only am I the reason Vesper is dead, but I did exactly what I came in here saying I _wouldn't_ do. I ran away. I abandoned my first alliance, and now I just abandoned my second one.

No matter what happens next, I'll always be a coward.

I'm even worse than my father.

* * *

**Echo Woods, 17;**

**District Two Female.**

_Someone kill me, please._

I glare out the window, feeling a multitude of emotions in the center of my chest. Just like two days ago, there's a raging storm outside that makes it nearly impossible to go hunting. Unlike every other Hunger Games, this year is abnormally long and very uneventful. Other than that cannon a few minutes ago, I doubt anyone else is going to be dying today.

And yet, there's a part of me that's glad for this bad weather. While Terrance and I are safe inside of this barn, Kostos and Adeline have to deal with the storm. _Serves them right, _I think, smiling a little. _I hope they get struck by lightning._

So while I'm annoyed at the prospect of spending another boring day in the barn, I'm satisfied by the fact that Kostos and Adeline are no-doubt wet and miserable. It's a conflicting feeling, yeah — but I'm grateful for the emotions running through my veins. They give me a reason to keep going when days seem too bleak. They give me a way to ignore the severity of my current situation and cut through the competition without a single care in the world.

Sometimes, I like being angry at a world that barely accepts me. When I'm irate, it's harder for people to get past my defenses and hurt me.

"_Ugh_," I groan, mainly because the suffocating silence is getting on my nerves just as much as Kostos' talking did.

I turn away from the window, locking eyes with my ally from District Nine. I like having Terrance here. He's knows exactly what needs to be done, and he isn't afraid to do it either. He doesn't irritate me at all — and when I think of his former position as a Peacekeeper, it reminds me of the good times I had with Reyna and our other Peacekeeper associates.

But at the same time, Terrance can be awfully boring. As I said, I like being angry — because if I'm not focusing everything on my anger, my mind finds another subject to latch onto. Like how secretly saddened I am at not having parents who love and accept me, like how secretly scared I am of never being able to see my girlfriend again. When I'm not irate and yelling at someone, these depressing thoughts come to my mind and I _hate_ it.

Terrance doesn't make me angry — and I _hate_ that. I almost want Kostos and Adeline back...

Almost. _I hope that cannon a few minutes ago was one of them. _

"You don't seem to be in the best of moods," Terrance observes, giving me one of those half-smiles of his. I roll my eyes, craning my head back towards the window. "I don't think you're one of those people, Echo, but would you like to talk about it?"

_Yes. _"Not particularly."

"I think you do." I hear Terrence's soft footsteps come closer. Turning back towards him, I see his little smirk is replaced with his signature indifferent look. "But you're too prideful to admit it, especially with millions of cameras capturing this conversation. I highly doubt we're being broadcasted, though, considering the death that happened just a few minutes ago. If you want to talk, well, now's the chance."

I take his words into consideration, finding no faults in his hypothesis. Wouldn't the Capitol be more interested in seeing the aftermath of a death rather than the words of a bitchy teenage girl? They would.

But honestly, I don't have anything to tell my ally. I wouldn't dare reveal how depressed I feel about the fact that my parents didn't even come say goodbye to me, or how worried I am about my diminishing humanity. I wouldn't dare tell him about the small, mingling doubts I have about the Capitol's benevolence. I wouldn't tell Terrance anything; I can barely even convince _myself_.

"I'm just angry at the fact that I'll have to spend another day doing _nothing_. There's only so much boredom I can take before it becomes unbearable," I say — and while it's not truly the stem of my bad mood, it's not a lie. Terrance hums in acknowledgment as I continue. "I mean, how is the Capitol supposed to get the entertainment it deserves when it's too hazardous to do anything out there?"

"You're right. The Capitol sure does need to be entertained..." Terrance trails off, his eyes focused on something far away. I stare at him a bit before snorting, going back to looking out the window. There's no real point in trying to have a conversation with this guy.

For a while, we just stay like this, encased in a bubble of silence. I try to focus on my anger against Vesper, Adeline, Kostos, and that nobody from District Eight who fought me in the bloodbath — but it's not really working. All I can think about as I sit here and stare at the storm is the fact that I've killed two people, that Reyna _watched_ me kill two people, that I'm being forced to partake in this competition when I honestly don't want to.

_But it's all for the Capitol. Remember, you're doing this because the Capitol needs you to do this. _I try to remember this crucial fact, but it's not as easy as it used to be. The Capitol used to always be right, no matter what. But... But can I honestly say this is right?

I don't have time to think about it, though, as an extremely loud _hiss_ cuts through our silence. I recognize that sound; I could recognize a sound like that from a mile away.

I immediately jump up from the ground, my eyes frantically searching around the barn. _Where is it? Where is it?_ Terrance looks mildly alarmed, but not as disturbed as I must look. And why would he? I doubt he's afraid of...snakes.

Yes, snakes. I'm so disturbed by those reptilian creatures that I can barely move whenever I hear them, much less _see_ one. When I was younger, I had a run-in with them when an infestation colonized under my parents' home. One of them bit me in the leg, and I almost died from the poison. If I was from any other district, I probably _would_ have died.

So anyone can guess that seeing a snake in the Arena would be _very_ detrimental to my success. It'll be even more unnerving if I hear the noise and not be able to find it — because I swear, the only thing that'll be going through my mind is the fact that there is a _snake_ in this barn that could possibly kill me in my sleep.

"We need to find it, Terrance," I say, trying to keep my voice and emotions calm. "There is... Th-There is a muttation in this barn and we need to find it."

"It sounded like a snake," my ally murmurs, standing up beside me. I shiver; just saying the name makes me want to jump out of my skin.

Terrance goes to look around the barn, while I follow from a distance. Every small creak makes me whip my head around, so fast that I'm scared my neck might break — but every time, it's been nothing but useless background noise. We look around for what feels like thirty minutes, but I don't care how long the time passes. I'm not stopping until I know that snake is _dead_.

I groan, knocking over a barrel of hay in frustration. _Why can't I find it?_ I'm about to open my mouth to complain — and that's when, at the very exact moment, I hear a noise that chills me to my very core while also defying all the laws of physics.

"_Entertain usss_," the multiple voices say at the exact same time. I scream, stumbling away from the knocked-over barrel, watching in horror as snake after _snake_ comes slithering out the top.

Terrance comes rushing to my side, stopping short and widening his eyes when he sees the multitude of snakes coming out of the barrel. I can count about twenty and they aren't even all out yet!

"_Entertain usss_," they keep chanting in that haunting whisper of theirs. I stand frozen, mortified by the monsters that are actually _talking_. Snakes are horrifying in general — but _talking_ snakes? That's... That's so insanely terrifying.

I want to run, scream, hide in a hole and never come out. But I can't. It's like my mind is telling me to hightail it out of here, but every bone in my body is too scared to do it.

"Well then..." Terrence's voice rises above the snakes', monotone but somehow determined. "It seems you're getting what you've wanted, Echo. The Capitol wants entertainment, and it's our job to give it to them."

Somehow, I force my body to turn away from the monsters and look straight at Terrance. He has his claymore held tightly in his hands, as well as a few daggers attached to his belt. He looks just like how he did when we went out to go hunting yesterday. But why? Unless...

"Are you seriously suggesting we go hunting out in that storm?" I ask, my voice low and uncharacteristically timid. The appearance of those snakes have messed my entire mind up — and as I say the words out loud, I realize that _anything_ would be better than staying in here with these things. They aren't really attacking us, but you never know what's going to happen when dealing with things like this.

"That's a very good idea, but unfortunately I'd have to decline," my ally says, his eyes narrowed and his voice threatening. "I was hoping for a good opportunity at taking you out, and thankfully the Capitol delivered. I guess they really _are_ most benevolent, huh?"

I can't believe the words coming out of his mouth and into my ears. Take me out? Is he planning on _killing_ me? I instantly tense, my mind divided between the chanting creatures behind me and the lying bastard in front of me. I actually trusted Terrance, more than I trusted anyone else in this Arena — and now I figure out he's been planning to kill me for however-long? This is just too much to take in...

"Don't take it personally, Echo," he says, shrugging his shoulder. He takes a step towards me — and I want to move, I really want to, but I can't break free of this paralyzing situation. There are _snakes_ behind me. What am I supposed to do?

"You were really planning something like that this entire time?" I manage to croak out, glaring. I feel stupid, betrayed, wounded. How did it take me this long to figure out it? "If you come near me, Terrance, I swear—"

"Save it for the little brats who are actually intimidated by you." Terrance takes one more step closer to me, so close that he could stretch out his arm and touch my face.

I realize, as he stares at me in smug silence, that I don't even have my rapier on me. When he strikes, I won't even have anything to defend myself with. _So what do I do? What do I do?_

"_Entertain usss_."

I flinch at the sound of those monsters starting to circle around us. My fear is the _only_ reason I'm not kicking Terrance's ass right now. But right now, I'm starting to fear something even worse than the snakes. I'm starting to fear never seeing Reyna again. I'm starting to fear my _death_.

And I may be a bitch, but I'm still human. I still don't want to die.

Terrance raises his claymore, slowly leveling it at my head. And then, with the force of a thousand Peacekeepers, he _swings_ it at my neck. My body moves by itself; I duck at just the right time, momentarily overcoming my fear and saving myself from being decapitated. Taking advantage of his surprise, I push Terrence to the ground, sprinting to the Cornucopia. Above all, I need to find my rapier. It's the only way I'm going to kill Terrance and make him pay for even _thinking_ of betraying my trust.

I pump my feet, dashing across the room, away from the chanting snakes and my snake of an ally. But then, I feel something stab into my left shoulder, a rippling sensation that has me crying out in both surprise and pain. _Shit! _I stumble a bit, but I don't stop running. All I do is reach my right hand behind my left shoulder and _pluck_ the silver knife out of my arm. _Dammit, I didn't know he could throw knives!_

"Stop running," I hear him say, monotone voice raising ever so slightly. He chases after me — and fueled by my fear and anger, I boost my speed. I am _not_ going to let this guy beat me. I literally refuse to be beat by this sixteen-year-old lying bastard!

I make it to the Cornucopia, my eyes frantically searching for my rapier — or anything that'll protect me, really. When my eyes latch onto a chain-scythe in the back, I mentally groan, but grab at the opportunity to kill this guy nonetheless.

The weapon feels smooth and heavy in my hands. Realistically, I've never bothered learning how to use something like this. Ask me how to fight with a practical weapon, and I'd show you a few things and a lot more. But _this_, something I hear only the most annoying boys use? Yeah, it wasn't particularly apart of my Peacekeeper training.

_But it'll have to work, _I think, turning around and meeting the cold glare of Terrance Vallier. He stands a yard away, claymore gripped tightly in his hands. As I look at him, a feeling of pure loathing settles in the pit of my stomach, mixed in with a tiny bit of lament. I trusted Terrance, more than I trusted my district partner. And now he's doing this to me, using my one moment of weakness against me?

This is why I'm always keeping people away. They do nothing except try and break through your exterior before violently lashing out at your emotions. I can't _stand_ it.

"Once again, I'm terribly sorry it had to come to this, Echo," he says apologetically, though his eyes betray any form of emotion. Why wasn't I able to see through this facade until now? "But I think you know that this has to be done if either of us is going to win."

"Shut up." I glare at him, shaking my head. I don't want to hear anything he says right now. All I want is for this shit to _stop_.

"_Entertain usss..!_" Without even noticing, I realize with increasing horror that the snakes have formed a tight circle around Terrance and I. With every few seconds that pass, the purple creatures slither a bit closer to us. They're teeth are long and sharp, and I can _see_ the poison oozing out the tip.

I'm on a time limit. If I don't kill Terrance in the next few seconds, the snakes are going to get too close for me to concentrate. And what if they _bite_ me, or threaten to strangle me? I can't deal with that. I really, really can't deal with it.

So without any extra stalling, I lunge at Terrance, slashing at his head with my scythe. He blocks the strike with his own weapon, being too slow to dodge it, but quickly pushes my scythe away and adds more space between us before I can wrap the chain around his foot. _Dammit, don't run now. _He tosses two knives at me, but I dodge one of them while blocking the other one, knocking it right out of the air and into my hand. Then, I throw the weapon right back at him — which must surprise him because he's too slow to react and gets a silver blade stuck right into his shoulder.

The pain of my own shoulder is long forgotten with the adrenaline pumping through my body. As he cries out in pain and frustration, ripping the knife out of his wound, I take this opportunity to charge at him again. Metal grinds against metal as my scythe comes for his head while his claymore goes for my neck. We push against each other, our weapons locked in a battle of strength — and he tries to spin around me again, but I quickly use the chain of my scythe and wrap it around his leg. He goes to run but gets pulled right down, slamming his face on the dusty floor below.

"Dammit," he breathes, cradling his no-doubt broken nose. I stand over him, pride rushing throughout my entire body.

"Did you really think you could beat me?" I question, laughing at his pathetic form. He tries to get up, but I quickly kick him in the stomach, forcing him back on the ground. The thrill right now is so exhilarating, so _fun_. I don't care to admit it anymore; right now, I'm having _fun_. "I'm leagues above you, Terrance. I admit, it was smart to use my phobia against me, but it'd be unrealistic for that alone to ensure your victory."

I level my scythe above his chest — right over his black, manipulative heart. He looks at me with a mixture of pain, anger, and fear. Pain at his nose and shoulder, anger at being defeated, fear at the prospect of eternal death.

"I win."

I'm about to kill him, to shove my weapon deep inside of his chest and end this little charade once and for all. But then, the unthinkable happens. A slimy, scaly snake slithers _right_ over my foot — and when that happens, I realize just how _close_ they all are to me. They could literally open their mouths, extend their necks, and _bite_ me.

I scream, kicking the horrifying creatures of monstrosity away. "Get away! D-Don't touch me!" I turn around and swipe at them with my scythe, yelling curses. I'm trying to stay calm. I really, _really_ am. But just the mere _thought_ of these things touching me, sliding across my skin—

"_Ack!_"

Pain. Hot, white, _agonizing_ pain.

I slowly look down — and protruding out of my stomach is Terrance's claymore, dripping with blood and wrapped with pink, wet intestines. _Intestines_. _My intestines._

When I see the wound, it's like the pain picks that exact moment to triple in intensity. I _scream_, screaming louder than I've ever screamed before, feeling pure unadulterated agony more than I've ever felt before. And then, when Terrance slides the weapon out of my body, the pain intensifies even worse and I _scream_ louder.

White spots explode in my vision, mixed with the tendrils of darkness forming in the corners of my eyes. I fall to the floor, gingerly cradling my stomach, trying to somehow stop the blood from forming — but I can't, because it hurts, it hurts, _it hurts so much._

"I think I win," Terrance says — before the hearing in my ears completely shut down and I can't even hear my own screaming.

_I'm dying. No, I can't be dying. This has to be a bad dream. This can't be real. _I don't dare close my eyes, even when the darkness starts to overcome everything. I stare at the golden shine of the Cornucopia, wondering how something so beautiful can be associated with something so cruel.

_Cruel_, because the Hunger Games is cruel. I finally realize that now. I finally, _finally_ realize that the Capitol was never really on my side.

Another wave of agony travels through my body, before a dull numbing starts to overwhelm me. _Reyna, _I think, finally allowing my eyes to close. _Reyna, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

_I love you._

**BOOM!**

* * *

**Ricky Laris, 18;**

**District Ten Male.**

I shiver at the sound of another cannon blasting through the Arena. That's two people dead in the span of a single hour. Was there some major fight going on? Or were the deaths completely unrelated to each other? As I think more and more about it, I realize that the most possible conclusion is that the Pack found and tortured an alliance to death.

It's happened before.

_What alliance has two people, though? _As the rain patters consistently on the window, I ponder this thought. From what I remember, there's the District Three and Seven boys. And...

My blood immediately runs cold. _No, no. It can't be her. _Despite my confidence on her survival, I can't help thinking the worst. London is human, just like the rest of us. She may be beautiful, charismatic, and strong enough to punch a Peacekeeper in the face — but in the end, she's still a human-being, meaning she's still able to die.

_And if you're going to win, Ricky, you know she'll have to be dead eventually. _

I stare out the window, trying hard to distract myself from that cynical thought. I count the rain droplets accumulating on the window — exactly seventy-four — before I stop counting and realize the brutal nature of the Games isn't going to leave my mind anytime soon. Not in here, with every panicked look Isabel gives me and every frown Eion tries to hide.

_I need to get out for a bit. _Standing up from my spot by the window, I meet the confused stares of both tributes from Twelve.

"I... I'm just going out to get some fresh air," I say, nervously scratching the back of my head. I'm not scared of Isabel and Eion, _definitely_ not, but I'm a shy guy by nature and these Hunger Games aren't making anything easier.

Eion nods. "Oh, okay. Be careful out there." He tries to smile, realizes it's not going to lift anyone's mood, and goes back to staring at the wall.

I feel so horrible about how much this alliance has changed, even without us encountering any other tributes. In the Capitol, Eion was talkative and Isabel was kind. And now that we're in here, Eion always has this depressed stare while Isabel won't even talk anymore. I'm scared for the future, of what's going to happen when the numbers eventually start to dwindle and we're the only ones left.

_Will Eion attack me? Will Isabel?_ I try and shake that thought away, quickly walking out the room and gently closing the door behind me. I can't even imagine how I'd react if they decided to betray me. I'm so attached to the both of them, even if nobody can tell, and it'd literally kill me to see something break us apart.

_I_ wouldn't hurt _them_, at least I know that much. I just hope they feel the same way...

Clutching a long butchering knife in my hand — I didn't even realize I took it with me — I open the door to the house. The first thing that hits me is the rain, hard and freezing. The second thing that hits me is the wind, strong and unforgiving.

The third thing that hits me is a large, dog-like _monster_. I can't even think of any other name for the creature standing right in front of me, not even a yard away. It's a _monster_. It has pale, sickly gray skin with disturbing spots of brown and black. It's backside is arched up, like it's about to pounce right on top of me — and it's neck is abnormally long. With piercing blue eyes and the jaws of the devil itself, this creature is the absolute definition of a Muttation.

Coming from District Ten, there's only one name I can give a beast like this: the _Chupacabra_. There would be so many disturbing instances of farm animals being violently killed and devoid of their blood, and yet nobody could understand _how_. It could have been a sick prank, sure, but that doesn't explain the lack of blood in the corpse's body. And why nobody ever heard or saw anything.

And one day, someone from the outer parts of District Ten said that they saw it: a creature on all-fours, shrouded by the night's shadow, silently tearing one of the cows to shreds. The _Chupacabra_, the people of Ten called it. After that, nobody could really sleep the same during the night.

_And you're standing right in front of one…_

I don't even have time to scream; the monster lunges right on top of me, knocking me straight to the floor and holding me down with it's super-powered paws. It's face is right above mine, inches away — and the rabid look in it's icy eyes is downright horrifying. It huffs, rancid breath overcoming my nose.

A heartbeat of silence, my blood in my ears.

_Then _I scream.

"Ricky!" Eion comes barrelling out of the room, his knife gripped tightly in his hands. When he sees the monster on top of me, he trips over his own feet, blanching at the sight of a creature who could easily tower above him. Isabel comes out seconds later, gasping at the chupacabra when her eyes hover over to it.

For a moment, there's nothing but silence. The monster keeps me pinned down, staring at both Eion and Isabel. The boy from Twelve stares right back at it, his hands trembling, while the dark-skinned girl from Twelve visibly fights back tears. The only sound I hear is the beating of my heart, my mind telling me to struggle but my body being unable to. I've never understood how people can be paralyzed by fear, but now I know. Now I understand.

_I'm so scared_. The chupacabra seems to snort, before looking back down towards me. And then, it smiles. _I don't want to die…_

I really don't want to die. I know, compared to people like Eion, I'm a loser. I barely have any friends, I can't even look at my crush without blushing, and I wouldn't even dare to raise my voice against my parents — against _anyone_. I'm too scared to work as a butcher like my father, so I spend my hours as a cashier in a flower shop of all places. All my life, I've never even truly got to _live _because of the overbearing adults in my life.

And now I'm going to die. _It's… It's just not fair._ Slowly, tears start streaming down my face. _Why is life so unfair…?_

The chupacabra opens it's mouth, large tongue rolling out — but then, right before I can close my eyes and prepare for the agonizing death of being eaten alive, I see Eion charge into action in the corner of my eye. He dashes towards the monster, knife raised, eyes narrowed — and before the chupacabra can fully react, the boy from Twelve stabs the thing straight in it's back.

The monster lets out a guttural sound that could possibly pass for a scream. Quickly jumping off of me, the chupacabra lunges at Eion instead. _Wait, what?! _I quickly get off the ground, my eyes glued to the creature trying to bite Eion's head off.

"Help me!" He yells, and Isabel and I look up at each other. Her eyes are wide, watery, terrified — and I don't even want to know how I look. It's almost as if us two are in our own world, both of us very insecure and very scared.

But unlike Isabel, I do know one good thing about myself. I'd never let my friends get hurt because of me.

I rush towards Eion, who's now struggling against the chomping jaws of the chupacabra. When Eion sees me, there's a flicker of hope in his eyes — but that hope is immediately extinguished when the monster uses that opportunity of distraction to tear straight into Eion's shoulder.

Eion _screams_, a shrill sound that will forever haunt my dreams. As soon as I see his face, contorted in pain, my mind goes blank. All I can feel is the smooth texture of the knife in my hand; all I can hear is Eion's pain-filled screams; all I can see is the monstrosity tearing at my friend's body.

_I won't let that happen_. With one last step, I jump on top of the beast and stab the thing straight in the back of it's neck.

"GO STRAIGHT TO HELL, YOU MONSTER!" I scream, latching tight onto the chupacabra as I stab and it writes and I stab and stab and _stab_. Blood flies out at me, landing on my face and shirt, but I ignore the sticky sensation and only focus on my desire to kill this thing.

The chupacabra has enough, though. He knocks me off, and I hit my back against the wall. Screaming incoherent sentences, _real _sentences, the monster sets it's now-red eyes on me and lunges. I don't think; I kick out with my foot, connecting with it's jaw and even knocking a tooth out. That's not enough to beat it, though. The chupacabra quickly diminishes the space between us and bites at my head. I can do nothing but bring my arm up — and when it's teeth sinks into my skin, a series of colors explode in my vision.

"_AUGH!_" The pain is worse than anything I've ever, _ever _felt before. I scream, kicking and kicking and _kicking _it's grotesque chest but _nothing _is working and the monster squeezes _tighter _on my arm and I scream again and there's _blood _and _tears _and _I dont want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die—!_

My heart in my throat, I scream for what I think must be the last scream I'll ever make. But suddenly, the monster makes a noise that sounds like anger and panic and surprise mixed into one deadly syllable. I squint my eyes open, tears falling out in big gobs — and standing there, it's teeth still punctured into my arm, is the chupacabra. But now, instead of trying to tear my arm off, it's just staring at me with eyes that look duller somehow.

That's when I see the knife sticking out of it's skull.

I cringe, gingerly pulling my arm out of the dead creature's mouth. _What happened?_ I want to ask. _Who did this?_ I still see Eion on the floor, writhing in pain with huge gash on his shoulder. So does that mean…?

Looking up, my guess is proved correct. Isabel stands right behind the corpse, eyes widened, hands shaking. She looks absolutely mortified with what she's done — but then, looking into her dark brown eyes, I see something else. Something akin to pride.

"I-Isabel," I stutter out, finding it hard to speak. Every bone in my body is throbbing, my heart pounding, my eyes burning. I'm too scared to look at what a mess my arm must be in; I don't want to have another panic attack.

The girl from Twelve shakes her head, staring at the large beast in front of us. She looks like she's about to speak, but Eion cuts her off with another pain-filled cry, and my arm feels like it's on _fire_. I have to keep myself from crying, but I can't stop myself from wincing.

"What are we going to do..?" Isabel asks, voice soft and hollow. She looks up at the ceiling, more tears in her eyes. "W-We don't have any supplies to fix you two up. It's all my fault… Oh my Panem, it's all my fault..!"

Before she can start hyperventilating, though, a soft _ding _cuts through the agonizing sadness. We both look up — and right there, coming from the open door, is a small parachute. Wait, a sponsor? I know for a fact that I didn't make much of an impact in the Capitol, and Isabel even fainted onstage. Eion did good, but I didn't think it was so good that he'd get us _sponsors_.

The parachute falls between Eion and Isabel, signifying that it's for the both of them. Since Eion is in too much pain to do anything, Isabel picks up the box and reads the letter attached to it. Even in the slight darkness of this hallway, I can see Isabel flinch as she reads it, but she drops the note to the ground when she's done and starts opening the box.

Curious, I pick up the note, wondering what it could say to give her that reaction.

_Here's a first-aid kit and some medicine, brats. Any wounds you have, just stitch it up and rub the cream over it. Tomorrow, it'll still burn like fuck, but you won't get an infection. This cost you three literally everything you have, so don't expect anything else._

_By the way, the Capitol is getting very bored with you three. If you don't start your mission to steal from the Cornucopia soon, it'll be absolute hell to pay. _

_ —Nerva._

I feel my blood run cold, overwhelming the slight happiness I feel about receiving a sponsor gift. As far as we know, the Pack is guarding the Cornucopia with everything they've got. Isabel's plan seemed like such a good idea a few days ago — but now that we're actually here, I'm scared of the threat that going back to the barn could possess.

_And so are they_, I think grimly as Isabel informs Eion of the note and he just remains quiet. _This isn't going to work out._

We've officially gotten our first real taste of being in the Arena, and already I can see the cracks starting to show. I don't know what to do, how to react — and I'm scared. I'm so, so scared.

_And yet, the Games have only just begun. _I look down at my arm, wincing at the bloody mess of skin. _Scared or not, I have to be ready. I can't… I can't lose my friends._

_I can't die._

* * *

**Vesper Quinn, 17th: Mitchell, Vesper was an absolute bae. Seriously, he was just so fun and easy to write, and he was the first one to actually start controversy in the Capitol. Everything from his Reaping to his death… I just loved every bit of time I spent with Vesper, seriously. His anger at the Capitol for killing his parents, his anger at District One for abandoning him in his time of need - and then his small bit of development in the arena when he realized that all he wanted was someone to care for him like his parents used to. I think the exact moment he realized that, he became an immediate favorite, and I thought of him in a so much better light than just a drama-starter. Seriously, Vesper was awesome. Unfortunately, I didn't have anything more to add to him after his development. :'( Rest in peace, Vesper…**

**Echo Woods, 16th: Ironman, Echo started off as the easy antagonist. She was strong, ruthless, and didn't give a shit about what she had to do to get back home. But I always find angry tributes like that so annoying, because what else is there to them? Thankfully, Echo had that "something" else to her character. Her bad relationship with her parents, her hatred of the non-supportive homophobes, the worry she had over her humanity, and then her wavering loyalty to the Capitol - all of it made her angry, and yet she suppressed all of this and took her anger out on other people because it made life easier for her. She was so simple, yet so complex. I know Reyna is going to miss her, and I'm going to miss her as well. :') Thanks for submitting!**

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**Author's Notes: OKAY! So, well, this just happened. Two deaths. I'm sad, but I'm glad that the story is finally progressing at a steady pace. Nobody likes a SYOT that goes unbearably slow, and I don't want you guys to this as that kind of story.**

**Other than the fact that I'm now in school, meaning update times will vary, I don't have anything else to say! I hope you guys liked the fights this chapter! I'm rather conflicted on them, tbh, but I'm always conflicted on my writing so that's nothing new.**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**The numbers are starting to dwindle. You and your ally have fortunately managed to get through the brunt of the Games without any really bad instances. You know that you're going to have to split eventually, or risk having to kill each other in the finale. Do you kill your ally in their sleep, or do you tell your ally that it's time to split and go your separate ways?**_

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**Well, that's it everyone! Remember to review, please? They always make me smile, and they give me the motivation to finish the next chapter without procrastinating. :) So please do review!**

**BAI!**


	25. Night Four

**acannoninthewind. blogspot. com  
panemsgreatesthg. blogspot. com**

* * *

**Night Four.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Adeline Callard, 18;**

**District One Female.**

Kostos shoots another arrow in the sky, straight into the eagle's chest. I watch, horrified and nauseous, as the bird squawks out in pain and falls to the wet grass below. As soon as it makes impact with the ground, Kostos quickly rushes over and stomps the muttation's head in. I wince at the sound of it's skull crushing, but I hold back my protests; I know that a single arrow won't take these monsters out.

The bleeding gash on my ally's right arm is enough to prove that point. _Never turn your back on an animal you think is dead,_ I remember my father telling me during one of our study sessions. _Because they just may end up surprising you. The same goes for humans, too._

I always brushed off his morbid comments with a smile or a laugh, because things like that flew right over my head. My world was peaceful, happy, and downright enjoyable to live in. When was I ever going to have to worry about supposedly dead people, much less a wild _animal_?

If only I had known a little better, I just might have listened to my father more. He constantly pushed me hard, harder than I believed any girl my age should have been pushed — but now that I'm in the Games, I realize that he was just trying to protect me. He just wanted me to be prepared, if only slightly, should I ever end up in a situation like the one I am now.

Kostos takes his arrow out of the bird's carcass, wiping the blood off on its body. I watch, almost transfixed by how _good_ he can look doing something so morally wrong. With the rain soaking his clothes to his slim body, I can't help but stare at the muscles peeking out under that outfit.

And now that we aren't with Echo and Terrance, I'm the only person he sees.

_Stop it, Adeline! _I mentally yell at myself, tearing my gaze away. _What's wrong with you? You're in the Hunger Games. This isn't... This isn't the time for that._

_It'll never be the time for that._

"Adeline," Kostos calls out, and I immediately snap out of my thoughts. He cracks a small smirk. "Thanks for having my back during that fight just now. You were _really_ a big help."

I wince at the sting of his sarcasm, like an arrow flying into my heart. When the birds first attacked us, I sorta screamed and kept my distance, while Kostos quickly snapped into action and started shooting the mutts right out of the sky. I feel extraordinarily bad at the fact that I didn't help — but I just didn't think I _could_. All I have is this measly dagger, and the odds of me being able to stab one of those muttations without getting my eyes pecked out was considerably low.

Nonetheless, the fact that I didn't even _try_ to help makes me feel extremely guilty. _He definitely won't like me now. Nobody will care about the girl who ran away during a muttation attack._

"I..." My gaze travels to the ground, a depressing tendril wrapping around my soul. "I'm sorry..."

His laughter makes me raise my head. I stare at him curiously as he snickers, hiding his smile behind the back of his hand. "It's fine, Adeline," he says, still laughing. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt anyway. Everything's alright."

_...He still likes me. _I try to refrain myself from blushing, instead giving him one of my sincerest smiles. Back in District One, I always felt pressured to get other people to like me. I always felt like if I did the least thing wrong, my entire life would come crumbling down. So I was a people-pleaser, doing and saying everything that was expected of someone like me. I spent hours on my makeup, hours on my hair — and it worked. Everyone more-or-less liked me.

But I still felt inferior to the other girls, who would always flaunt their sexy boyfriends in my face. I wanted something like that. I wanted to be beautiful like them. And even my younger sister seemed to be living the good life, with her surplus of friends and charismatic boyfriend. My life was good, extremely so compared to the people of other districts — but I still wanted more.

Now that I'm in the Games, though, I don't really know if I _can_ get more. Every moment here has been full of conflicting emotions, terrifying situations, gruesome images — and I can't, I just _can't_ see myself getting out of here alive. I want to remain optimistic, but how am I supposed to do that when people like Kostos and Echo and Vesper are still alive and capable of killing me with a flick of their wrists?

_And I don't want anyone to die, _I think, biting my lip. My eyes sting — and for once, I allow the tears to trail down my face, camouflaged by the unending rain. _Especially me. I don't want to die. I just want to go home..._

After Kostos gets done retrieving all of his blood-stained arrows, he comes walking back towards me, smiling that gorgeous grin of his. Feeling self-conscious, I quickly wipe my face free of both tears and rain, plastering on a fake smile. I can forget about my insecurities and selfishness when I'm around Kostos — if only momentarily.

"I think that we should find some shelter for the night," he says, attaching the bow and arrows to his back. "I thought that the rain would've stopped by now, but I guess not. I hope Echo and Terrance are nice and comfy in their barn."

"Yeah." It scares me to think this, but I really _don't_ want them to be alright. I really want them pay for kicking Kostos and I out of their group.

I want them to _die_ — and that scares me so, so much. Is this what the Arena does to people like me? Does it really force the deepest, darkest parts of ourselves out into the light like this?

He starts walking away, motioning for me to follow. And suffice to say, I _do_ follow. We walk through the dark, windy, rain-filled fields for what feels like an hour, but must only be a couple of minutes. Kostos casually mentions seeing a large tree earlier, and I quickly agree that that would be a good place to rest. As the rain starts to slowly settle down to a soft drizzle, and the area around us gets darker and darker, Kostos and I finally start seeing the outline of an enormous tree in the distance.

But with it is something else. Something that makes my blood run cold, that forces my throat to close up.

There's a _fire_. A small fire by the trunk of the tree, protected from the rain by the thick branches and leaves. And with a fire like that, a fire used for cooking and _heat_, there can only be one thing that accompanies it.

Other tributes.

Kostos grabs my hand as soon as I move to take a step back. A warm heat spreads across my face at the feel of his soft palm, and his fingers wrapping around mine. It takes all of my strength not to shiver, despite the situation.

But then the situation comes back to the forefront of my brain — and no, no I can _not _do this right now. I've never been in a fight for my entire life, and I am _not _ready to change that. Hunger Games or not, innocent kids _can't _just be killing each other like this!

_And most of all, you don't want to die. Going to that fire is the equivalent of dressing up for your own funeral. Don't do it, Adeline! Turn around and run away, Adeline!_

That's what I'm about to do; I'm about to turn around, tell Kostos to follow me, and walk away to somewhere safer. But then the boy from Two stares me straight in the eyes, our fingers still entangled, his lips quirked up into a soft smile…

"Adeline, I know you don't want to do this," he begins, "but we have to. Who knows what'll happen to us if we stay unprotected in this weather? And I don't imagine those rich Capitol folks will be very pleased with us if we just decide to run away."

I should protest. I should stomp my feet, shake my head, and explain to Kostos that I'm just not capable of doing things like this. He might be able to take a life without a hint of remorse — something I still can't quite come to terms with — but I know that I _can't_.

If I were to kill someone, my mind would break in half.

But with him staring at me, our eyes interlocked, the rain matting his blond hair to the front of his face… I can't say no. I can't risk our relationship worsening over something like this. Alliances always end up with one member either abandoning or betraying the other — and I can't have our alliance turning into something like that. I won't be able to cope with the fact of being alone.

_I need him, everyone, to like me._

"Okay." I exhale, ever so gently, staring into those blue orbs of his. Squeezing his hand, I repeat myself: "Okay."

Kostos smiles, ever so swiftly, before he turns away and grimaces at the fire. Still holding my hand, he starts walking towards the flickering light, and I follow at a quick pace. My legs feel like lead and my feet are burning in protest, but I stifle those anxiety-filled phantom pains and continue walking towards the unfortunate tribute trying to warm up with a fire.

_I'm sorry, _I think, closing my eyes for a split moment of peace. _I'm so, so sorry..._

When I open my eyes, Kostos lets go of my hand — and sitting in front of the fire, staring at us with widened eyes, are the two female tributes from District Nine and Ten. The girl from Nine looks like she's been through a _lot_, with her messy hair covering half of her face and a blood-stained bandage wrapped around her thigh. The girl from Ten, though, looks relatively unarmed except for the dirt stained on her clothes. Even with the rain and wind, she somehow manages to pull off a totally flawless look, almost like some Capitol model.

_Why can't I look like that? _I think, before subtly shaking my head. _No, I can't think about that. I can't._

"Hello, ladies," Kostos says, the hint of a smile in his voice — and I have to admit, I'm a teensy-bit jealous that my ally has his attention on the two beautiful girls in front of him. It makes me feel so much more bad about myself. "Sorry to say, but we need a shelter for the night, and this is the best place we can find. Thanks for the warm fire, though!"

The girl from Nine shifts uncomfortably, shooting a look at her blonde ally. The girl from Ten doesn't say anything — not yet, at least. She slowly stands up from the ground, dusting herself off — and in the corner of my eye, I see a glint of steel hiding behind her back. _A weapon. _I watch, slightly horrified, as Kostos unsheathes his own knife.

"So what, you're just gonna walk up like you own the place and then demand for us to leave?" She scoffs, a small smile sliding on her lips. The more and more time that passes, the more thicker the air gets, and the more I know that this encounter isn't going to end very well. "Sorry, but we aren't in the business of giving out loans. It's either you leave us alone, or you're _killing_ us."

I wince at the severity of her words, at the prospect of death. We're all human, all with likes and dislikes — and now, we're so easily being reduced to animals who fight over even the smallest bit of shelter. I... I can't let this happen. I can't let two or maybe even _all_ of us die because of something as insignificant as _this_.

Before I can speak, though, Kostos replies.

"You said it, not me," he mumbles, a slight melancholy in his voice. And then, with the speed of a dragonfly, he whips out his bow and snatches out an arrow.

"No, stop!" I scream — but that doesn't stop the girl from Ten.

She quickly springs into action, large machete in her hand, and charges at Kostos and I. Self-preservation kicking in, I run to the left, while Kostos quickly nocks his arrow and attempts to shoot her straight in the face. _Attempts. _The girl from Ten swipes with her weapon, hitting Kostos' bow and messing up his trajectory. The arrow goes flying somewhere to the right — and seeing her chance, the Ten girl swipes at Kostos' head.

My heart stops. _No..! _Kostos can't die. I know that I don't want to die, not at all, but _Kostos Sylett can not die._ More than the fear of losing myself in this place is the fear of being alone. If I'm alone, there'll be nobody to help distract me from my depression. If I'm alone, there'll be nobody to stop me from doing something horrible to myself.

And I love Kostos. He's given me the attention and care I've been craving for my entire life. Despite being a killer, he actually has a kind heart. He actually _likes_ me.

And I can't let anyone take that away from me.

* * *

**London Tienna, 18;**

**District Ten Female.**

These two could not have come at a worse time. Toren is still injured and gravely traumatized, while I literally just got done killing a few rabid squirrel mutts. Not only that, but it's dark and raining and _definitely_ not the right atmosphere for a fight.

_...It'll be okay, though, _I think, charging at Kostos and Adeline. _I'm not going to lose just because it's wet. _

I know that I should be a bit cautious over the fact that these two are apart of the Pack — but reluctance to action is exactly what kills tributes like me. The Pack uses the tributes' fear as an advantage, because while they can just easily focus on killing, the reaped tributes are too busy trying to run away.

I'm not letting that happen to me. I promised myself that I was going to win, that nothing was going to rip me away from this world. I might be too cheerful at times, and I might have a one-track mind — but I'm confident in my abilities, and I'm _not_ going to be killed by these two.

Adeline jumps away, screaming something unimportant, leaving me face-to-face with Kostos. He levels the bow at my face, eyes narrowed — but before he can shoot, I strike out with my machete, knocking his bow out of my direction. _Got you. _He's not carrying a close-ranged weapon, and I know I can move fast enough to cut his head off at such close quarters.

For a split second, my mind latches onto that image. _Could I actually cut someone's head off? Am I really that sort of person, to mercilessly kill without a spare thought? What would Lucas think, seeing me doing something like this? What about my mom, my dad, my sister? Would they be alright with me being a cold-blooded murderer?_

Everything's moving too fast to think. I _know_ I'm a good person. I _am_. Kostos volunteered for this. He's the bad guy here. Not me, but him. _Him_.

I just want to live, to win, to overcome this obstacle that the Capitol so callously placed in my path.

With a reassured state of mind, I raise my machete once more before quickly swinging it at Kostos' neck. I expect to feel the sensation of skin cutting away, of blood pouring on my hands. That doesn't happen, though; I've overestimated my speed. Kostos ducks under my strike, insanely fast, before shoving me away.

"Shit!" I stumble backwards, cursing myself for allowing him to put more space between us — but I realize, as my back hits something hard, that Kostos just might be the least of my problems.

I don't even get a chance to turn around. All I hear is Adeline's piercing scream in my ears before I feel something cold and wet plunge into my shoulder, slicing through my skin and muscle and stabbing straight in the bone. I _scream_, pain pulsing out of my shoulder and spreading all throughout my brain like wildfire. _She stabbed me! _is all I can think, before a flash of painful colors overtake my vision. _She fucking stabbed me!_

The wound isn't fatal, though, and definitely not enough to hold me down. Faster than I've ever moved in my eighteen years, I spin around and punch the blonde girl straight between the eyes. She screams, falling to the ground, cradling her nose — and with pain and anger at the forefront of my mind, I snatch the knife out of my shoulder and angrily throw it at her.

_Calm down, London, _I think, trying to fight through my pain and indignation. _Don't get flustered. The fight isn't over. You need to win._

Turning away from Adeline's whimpering body, I come face-to-face with Kostos' arrow aimed straight at my head. Without skipping a beat, I jump to the left, just as he shoots. The arrow cuts the the air, faster than a bullet, and I wince at the sting that cuts across my right ear. Tears spring to my eyes, but I quickly blink them away and charge once more at Kostos.

This time, though, he's prepared. He quickly slides out a knife, half the size of my machete, and swiftly raises it up in defense. Undeterred and driven by the pulsing pain, I continue towards him, lashing out once again with my machete. I swipe at his neck, but he blocks and pushes my weapon away — before stabbing at my stomach. _He's fast! _I think, twisting out of the way, inches away from being gored.

"You're good," he says, striking out again. I bring up my machete to block the knife, the sound of screeching metal blocking out any outside interference. With a grin, I slash at his torso, and he barely manages to jump back in time. A long line of red cuts across his stomach.

"I know I'm good," I say proudly, watching as he stumbles back and gingerly pats at his newly-acquired wound. It's a shallow cut, yeah, but it's a cut nonetheless.

The adrenaline in my veins are flowing faster than they've ever flowed before. I'm in a fight with Kostos, District Two volunteer — and I'm not dead yet. I even injured him! Just the mere thought is enough to make me smile, because it proves just how competent I really am, how nothing in this Arena could _possibly_ kill me. I'm going to _win_, and nothing is going to stop—

"Kostos!" Adeline suddenly screams, panic in her voice. I turn around, curious as to what could be wrong — and I'm utterly _shocked_ at the sight of Adeline and Toren squaring off in a knife-fight. My ally seems to be winning, but it's obvious by the look on her face that every step she takes is filled with pain. She's still too injured to be at one-hundred-percent.

Still, she's _winning_. That's why Adeline is screaming, because just one misstep could be her last. I didn't know Toren was this skilled at fighting, or this prepared to take a life, but it looks like the trauma of her near-death experience has made her realize that fighting is the only way she'll be able to live.

"You go, girl!" I yell, a wave of ecstasy flowing through me. We're going to win this. We're not going to let these guys beat us! "Make her regret ever challenging us!"

My words must spur Toren on, because her attacks instantly become a lot more aggressive. For a fifteen-year-old, this girl is _strong_. Adeline screams again, instantly on the defensive, blocking and dodging every single second. She wants her cute ally to help her — but no, Kostos is too busy with _me_.

_She's dead, _I think, and that's when my world comes crashing down.

Taking advantage of my distraction, Kostos quickly picks up his bow and shoots an arrow straight at Toren. My eyes widen in shock, a scream sitting at the back of my throat — but thankfully, Toren sees the weapon flying at her and stumbles out of the way just in time. I almost sigh in relief. Almost. Toren stumbles right into Adeline, who uses this one opportunity she has to lash out.

Time slows down. My gaze is locked on Adeline's eyes, wide and fearful and full of tears. And then my eyes move over to Toren, her beautiful green orbs widened in absolute shock.

As my vision settles on the blood-soaked dagger in Adeline's hands, the dagger _I_ threw back at her, time goes back to it's regular speed. I watch, sick and horrified, as Adeline stabs the knife straight into Toren's neck.

I look away, just as a loud **BOOM** shakes the Arena.

"No!" I scream, squeezing my eyes shut, hands over my mouth to keep from vomiting. "No, no, _no!_" She's dead. Toren is dead. My ally, my friend, a girl I could've easily called my sister is _dead_. How could this happen? This wasn't supposed to happen! We were supposed to fight through the competition and come out on top — and now she's dead?! No, _no no no no NO!_

_And the worst part is that you're the reason she's dead. In your anger, you threw the knife back at Adeline. You gave the weapon to the girl that killed your friend._

_And not only that, but you got distracted while you should've been finishing Kostos off, or even jumping in to help Toren. Instead, you just watched, absolutely powerless to do anything as the knife entered her neck._

_You should be ashamed of yourself._

"I'm sorry, but this is just what happens in the Games," the boy from Two says. I don't even turn around to look at him; I know what's about to happen to me. I screwed up, badly, and I'm about to face the consequences. All I can do is stand still, tears trailing from my eyes, a painful guilt tearing me up from the inside.

With my tear-stained vision, I can barely make out the silhouette of Toren's lifeless body, lying motionless on the wet grass. I want to run over there. I want to sit with my friend, one last time, before everything goes black. But I don't deserve that. I don't deserve to be with the girl that was inadvertently killed by my idiocy.

Adeline is on the ground, sobbing, screaming incoherently. She looks absolutely pitiful. And why should she? It's not like anyone _made_ her bother us. It's not like anyone _made_ her fight. It's not like anyone _made_ her kill my ally. I know I shouldn't be angry, considering where we are right now — but I am. I'm so, _so _very angry and sad and _scared_.

_I don't want to die._

_But I deserve it._

"I'm sorry…!" With a gut-wrenching sob, I close my eyes once again — and that's when I completely fall apart. I cry, and cry, and _cry_. Because Toren is dead, _dead_, and I'm going to die, _die_, and it's not fair, _not fair_, and I don't want to die, I don't want to die, _I don't want to—_

Kostos shoots the arrow. I tense up, as if it'll stop the weapon from ripping through my back and flying out of my chest. It doesn't. Pain, unimaginable pain, _so _much pain. My chest feels like it's on _fire_. It hurts, my body hurts, my _soul_ hurts. Everything hurts and I can't even scream because that'll just make it hurt more.

I don't look down at the fatal wound; I barely have the chance. My legs give out from under me, and I

collapse onto the wet ground below. Shivering in complete agony, I can _feel_ the life slowly seep out of my body. It hurts more than words could ever explain.

I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. Everything is getting blurry, dark — _and I'm scared, I'm so scared, I don't want to die here, I don't want to die at all._

_Mom, Dad, Liah, Lucas... Please forgive me. Please...don't forget about me. I know that I wasn't the best daughter, sister, and girlfriend...but please remember me. Remember the smiling, undaunted London. Remember the cocky, optimistic London. Remember the sweet, loving London._

_And Toren... I'm so, so sorry. I know that nothing will ever be able to make up for what happened, but I just want you to know that you were the most awesome girl I've ever met. You were smart, graceful, and at peace with the world — and yet, you were swallowed by the same world you loved so much. It's just so cruel, so wrong... And I'm just so sorry, Toren. I... I just hope you'll be able to forgive me, wherever you are right now... _

_Wherever I'm about to end up._

All at once, the pain becomes absolutely unbearable, and the world around me fades away. The last thing I see is the gentle sway of the grass, beckoning me to close my eyes and relax in death's embrace.

If only death knew how to treat a lady...

**BOOM!**

* * *

**Ceres Cantrell, 13;**

**District Six Female.**

_This is the worst._

At the sound of _another_ cannon, I can't stop the scowl from forming on my face. Does the Capitol really think it's cool to see teenagers dying? Do they think that it's hip to enjoy the blood of innocent adolescents? They might be cheering at the prospect of another death — but with every cannon that rocks this Arena, it reminds me of my own mortality. It reminds me that I'm going to be one of those deaths soon enough.

Yet at the same time, the sound of cannon-fire gives me hope. It even makes me feel _relieved_. I haven't taken the time to count how many deaths there have been since the Games have started, but I like to believe that about half of us are long gone. And if someone like me, some girl who cringes at the mere idea of wearing a dress, can make it this long...

I don't know. It makes me feel like I could potentially _win_. For that, I'm glad — but at the same time, I'm disgusted. I'm disgusted with the Capitol, with the other tributes, with _myself_. Hidden deep inside, there's a side of me that's actually _glad_ for this spike in deaths. There's a part of me that actually _wants_ the other tributes to die, so that I can get out of this crazy farm.

It's so conflicting, so much so that I almost feel like vomiting. I _hate_ the Hunger Games for changing me; I _hate_ the Capitol for finding amusement out of our deaths; I _hate_ Michael for leaving me alone; I _hate_—

—_Michael_.

At the thought of my cheerful ally, I cringe. I wasn't... I wasn't supposed to get attached to anyone. I came to the Capitol thinking that nobody would approach me, that I'd stay in the background like I always had. And yet, Michael Riverbee from District Five befriended and broke away my introverted personality in the matter of a few days. I loved the way he seemed to smile at anything and everything. I loved the way he joked about our upcoming death match, as if it wasn't going to happen. And maybe he really _did_ think that the Games would be cancelled, that it was all just some big joke.

But that didn't last. He _changed_. Common sense would've been to abandon the idea of an alliance and venture out on my own — but I just couldn't get away from him. I couldn't forget the Michael that he used to be, before the Capitol did what they do best and turned him into someone he's not.

Whenever I close my eyes and _really_ visualize, I can almost see his grinning face again. I can almost feel the warmth of his hands in mine...

Shaking my head, I try my best to forget about him and to continue walking. _Absolutely the worst, _I can't help but think, forcing back the tears. _Nothing could equal the heart-wrenching pain I feel deep inside._

Pushing those thoughts away, I stop walking and look around at the environment I've stumbled into. Unlike the rest of the Arena, with rolling hills of grass and a few dilapidated houses, this part of the Arena is a forest of gigantic wheat stalks. The tallest one is about two times my height! This would probably be a beautiful environment, something you'd only see once in a lifetime — but the shroud of darkness that covers everything, mixed with the wind and rain, makes this place almost nightmarish.

I wouldn't have even come into this forest-like environment if I wasn't too paranoid of sleeping out in the open. People are _dying_, and I just don't want that to happen to me. I might want this all to hurry up and end, but that doesn't mean I'll submit myself to death. I might be depressed, but I haven't hit rock bottom like Michael. Not yet.

"This will be good shelter for the night," I say aloud — as if I have an audience. I doubt the Capitol would be broadcasting me right now, though. Not that I care if they do; I just need to get my thoughts out into the atmosphere, or the intense loneliness I feel will drive me insane.

I sit down on the cold, wet ground — and I wait. I wait for the Capitol Anthem to appear in the sky, to reveal the four deaths of today. I want to say something along the lines of this being awful, or that seeing the faces of dead children will make me cry, but I can't even lie to myself anymore. If there's anyone that needs to be dead today, it's Michael's murderers. Echo, Kostos, Terrance, Adeline. They all deserve to _die_ for the inhumane acts they're doing in this place.

_Not only that, but their deaths will exponentially boost your chances, _I add, exhaling deeply. _Don't let your emotions control you again, Ceres. You need to think about the big picture._

That's right. I'm depressed and pissed off, but I can't let my ally's demise bring me to oblivion. If I'm going to win, I'm going to need to play this smart. I'm going to need to turn into someone who doesn't care about others, into someone that only has victory in mind.

_...What a delightful girl you're growing into._ Shaking my head, I stare up at the starry night sky, droplets of rain falling on my face. Why haven't they revealed the deaths yet? My eyes are getting droopy, and I know for a fact that this is about the time they usually show it. Is something wrong?

_...Unless they're expecting another death._

The exact moment that thought comes to mind, I hear a loud _crunch_ a few feet to my left. Either that's a bloodthirsty muttation, or it's another tribute. And I don't particularly want to encounter either.

Jumping off the ground, I hold my breath, a tension-filled silence overcoming everything. _This is just great, _I want to mumble, but my lips are shut tight. I'm frozen in place, eyes widened, ears outstretched to hear any other noise other than my heart beating like a hammer. _Please don't let it be anything, _I plead, biting my bottom lip. _Please. I can't deal with anyone on my own..._

I wait for what feels like a millennia, when it only must be a few seconds. Blinking, I slowly turn my head towards the location of the noise — and staring back at me, deadpan look on his face, is the sixteen-year-old boy from District Nine. _He's apart of the Pack_, is the first thing that comes to mind. _He's deadly. He and his goons could kill me._

_He and his goons killed Michael._

I stare at him, and he stares at me, and I take in the weird-looking sword in his hand, and he takes in the lack of weapons in my hands, and we say or do nothing except stare.

And then, the boy from Nine sighs. "You know what needs to happen."

I can't help it; I make what could be my last sarcastic remark. "You're gonna tell me a bedtime story?"

And all Hell breaks loose. He swipes at my head with his sword, and I duck and roll out of the way just in time to avoid decapitation. Jumping to my feet, I set my eyes on a destination — but in this forest of yellow wheat, there _is_ no destination. I don't know where to run, how to get out, and what to do to avoid imminent death.

I'm going to die. _Oh Hell no, you cannot die here! You can't!_

I turn around — and duck once again, barely avoiding his weapon's deadly slash. He curses under his breath, charging at me, and I jump to the left, dodging a kick that would've knocked out my teeth. _I need to get away! _I think, my heart beating faster than its every beat before. _It doesn't matter where, I just need to GO!_

I start to run, knocking the tall trees of wheat out of my way. Every one I knock over, though, it's like another one replaces. This field of wheat is like an endless maze — and I'm the dumb tribute that's gotten stuck in it. I continue running, though, knowing that stopping or turning would just mean my death. The boy from Nine follows, however, his sharp breaths sounding a clock that counts down the moment of defeat.

"Please..!" My legs are getting tired, and the only thing I can think of is to plead for my life. But I know that won't work. This boy is determined on killing me, just like he killed my ally. No amount of begging will work.

No amount of running will work.

_If it's a fight you want..! _Spinning around, I come face-to-face with the boy from Nine and his sword of doom. For a split second, his eyes widen and he stumbles to avoid crashing into me — and at the moment, this one second of possibility, I jump at him.

My knees dig deep into his stomach as we topple to the ground. He cries out in pain, dropping his sword and grabbing at my hair — but with fear driving me, and the knowledge that this guy is apart of the reason that Michael is dead, I fight through the pain and slam my fist straight into his nose.

"_Argh!_" He screams in outrage, punching my head. For a second, my eyes flash, and a dizzying pain overcomes me. But I bite my lip, glare through the pain, and hit him straight in the eye. He screams again, and I punch him again, and he yells, and I punch, and punch, and _punch_.

"This is for killing my friend!" I scream, my fists covered in something wet and sticky. He doesn't even fight back anymore; he just moans, weakly trying to cover up his bruised face. I don't give him a moment of peace, though; I continue lashing out, clawing at his arms and pounding his nose when he lets up his guard.

_Ceres! What are you doing?! _

I suddenly freeze, my fist inches away from coming down on his eye. I stare at the boy under me, at his bleeding nose and his bruised lip. _I _did this to him. My gaze travels down to my hands, covered in crimson red blood. Actual _blood_. I... Am I supposed to be proud? Am I supposed to be jumping at the chance to kill this guy, just because he killed my ally?

I'm not like them. I'm not... I'm not ready to actually take another person's life. Especially not with my own two hands.

"What..?" The boy from Nine croaks out, panting. I snap my eyes back down towards him — but he doesn't wince. He just meets my stare head-on. "Aren't you going to kill me..? Aren't you going to avenge your ally?"

I gulp, a deep feeling of absolute dread in the pit of my stomach. "I can't..."

"If you're not gonna kill me, then you should just give up now. If you're going to get out of here, then you're going to have to kill." He chuckles, a faraway look in his eyes. "I can't believe this... How am I getting beat to the ground by a little girl..?"

"_Don't_ call me a little girl," I snap, but wince when I realize where I am. I'm not in District Six, talking to my dad. I'm in the Hunger Games, minutes away from severely hurting a guy three years older the game me.

Slowly getting off of him, I clench my eyes shut to stop the tears. I don't dare look at my hands again, covered in something it should _not_ be covered in. This is why I hate the Capitol; at the exact moment of danger, they easily turn you into someone you never thought you'd be. They turned me into..._this_.

But no, I didn't kill him. I didn't fully contort to their game. They still don't have power over me. They'll _never_ have power over me.

"...Leave me alone," I say, opening my eyes and glaring at him. He slowly sits up, but doesn't make any move for the weapon just a few feet away. "Just leave me alone, okay? _Don't_ follow me." My voice cracks, an intense sorrow hitting me straight in the heart. This is where I am right now. It's finally hit me. _This_ is where I am and what other kids are doing.

I can't become like them. I just want to go home. Why is it so hard for me to just go _home?_

With one last look at the boy who almost took away my humanity, I turn around and start running away. I know that he could easily follow my trail and kill me in my sleep — but right now, I really can't bring myself to care. I just want to curl into a ball and wake up in my house, surrounded by the few people I actually care about.

_Mom, dad, Mary, Tyson...and Michael. Don't lose hope in me - the real me. I promise that I won't succumb to these horrible people. I promise that I won't break._

_I'll come back to you guys, and I'll whine about everything just like usual._

My eyes are finally open after years and years of thinking they already were.

And nothing, not a single thing, will drag me down now.

* * *

**Toren Ingalls, 15th: Olive, when I got Toren, I immediately fell in love with her tranquil personality. She was so normal, so realistic, and I just loved that about her. But then, in the Capitol, I realized that she was slowly fading into the background. I didn't even have an alliance to place her in! But then, the beautiful image of her and London teaming up came to my mind, and I'm glad it did. These two were almost polar opposites, yet they were perfect for each other. They were like real-life friends, and I just loved writing them. Toren's calm nature and London's outgoing nature clashed so perfectly, and many people wondered why they were even working together. Heck, I don't even know how something like that started! But that's what made it real, because I don't think you can choose your best friend. You two are drawn to each other, and that's exactly what happened to London and Toren. Toren was just so, so real. Unfortunately, it was just Toren's time to go, along with her ally. I hope she rests in peace.**

**London Tienna, 14th: Kelly, do you remember when you were questioning me on where London and Kostos placed, and I told you that she was gonna place 11th? Yeah, I lied. :/ Back then, I honestly didn't know where anyone would place, but I knew that London was a fighter and that she'd make it pretty far. And she did! When I first got London's form, I loved her. I loved her a LOT. And it's funny, because you only submitted her because you thought that I would decline Kostos (which I would have never done LMAO). When I first started writing London, I found it so hard yet so easy at the same time to get into her one-track train of thought. I don't know how it happened, but she even became a Capitol favorite! She was almost perfect. Unfortunately, in the Capitol, I found myself without an alliance to place her in. I thought of having her get into the Eion/Isabel/Ricky alliance, but she wouldn't have fit in there. And then came Toren, someone else who I couldn't really place in an alliance - and boom, the dream team was made! London was just so happy, so cheerful and so confident that she didn't even have to worry about anything during the Capitol. I feel like if she hadn't gotten attached, something she never even thought of happening, then she could have made it much much farther. Unfortunately, Toren was killed because of London's one-track mind, and London couldn't have coped with that. This was just her time to go. Thank you for submitting her, bae!**

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**Author's Notes: oh god, I just killed two more of my beautiful tributes. As you can see, things are starting to move along faster and faster with each chapter. We're almost down to half-tributes, and GOD I just can't even imagine it. I started this story like 9 months ago and we're FINALLY getting down to the nitty-gritty. I hope you all are excited, because I am!**

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_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**With everything that's been going on, which tribute do you see dying next? And which tribute do you think will kill them?**_

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**By the way, I just opened my next SYOT, "Eternal Youth." It would mean a lot to me if you guys decided to submit! :)**

**Don't forget to review me, baes! I've said this time and time again, but they really motivate me to keep this story going strong! Even though school is really getting in my way of updating, I'm not quite ready to throw in the towel! You can help me by reviewing~!**

**BAI!**


	26. Day Five

**acannoninthewind. blogspot. com**

**panemsgreatesthg. blogspot. com**

* * *

**Day Five.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Isabel Abriani, 18;**

**District Twelve Female.**

Today is the day.

As I stare at Eion and Ricky, both of them talking with strained smiles, I can't help but think of the worst-case scenario. My plan of stealing from the Cornucopia, going down in flames, resulting in our deaths. Or worse, resulting in only _their _deaths. There aren't enough words to describe the horrifying amount of guilt I'd feel if they were to die because of me.

I'm trying to stay poised and collected, though. I'm trying to act calm, like everything's going to work out — but in my bones, I can just _feel _the regret beginning to grow. I can just _feel _the upcoming disaster, like a ghostly blow to my stomach. _We shouldn't go, _I keep thinking, over and over like a personal mantra. _This is a bad idea, such a bad idea. We're all going to die if we do this…_

But according to that note, we'll be targeted by the Capitol if we continue to sit around and do nothing. I don't think that we can handle another monster coming after us. And anything else the Capitol has under their sleeves would just be very bad news. I know that going to the Cornucopia is the only option we have left, the only option that could potentially have a good ending.

_But in the Arena, what's a good ending? In the end, we're dead, no matter what happens today. And if one of us survives, that means the other two has to die. What kind of good ending is that? Even if I do somehow win, above all odds, I wouldn't be able to cope knowing that my allies are dead and gone. _

"You ready to leave, Isabel?" Eion suddenly asks me, his gray eyes brimming with kindness. Even when I hesitated to save him from that demonic mutt last night, he still can't help but feel nothing but benevolence towards me. Even with the stitches and bandages placed sloppily on his shoulder, he still manages to look at me like I'm his equal.

I _hate _it. I don't deserve that affection. Someone like me doesn't deserve any kind of attention. I'm just the inferior little girl from Twelve who's going to get her entire alliance killed.

But I can't let them know this — or rather, years and years of trying to be normal like everyone else has made me master the art of facades. So as I meet Eion's look, forcing myself to fake a smile, I nod.

"I'm ready."

_But I'm not. I'm not ready. Why in the world did I propose this stupid idea in the first place? Why am I going along with this, when I know that it'll only end in blood and pain and tears and—_

"Then let's go." Still smiling that strained smile, something so unlike Eion to do, he slides that terrifying knife inside of his pocket and walks out of the room, motioning for us to follow. Ricky glances at me, something flashing in those dark brown orbs of his, before gripping his own knife and following Eion out of the room.

I stare at my own knife, coated in dried blood from that giant muttation. This is it. Once I walk outside of that door, there will be no more cowering in a room. There will be no more safety. Today is the fifth day of the Arena, and I finally have to act like a real tribute. Either that, or I die today.

_I really, really don't want to die today._

Sucking up my apprehension, aware of the cameras that are watching my every move, I follow my two male allies out of the room. Seconds later, we're outside of the entire building. I close the wooden door behind us.

The wind takes on a more erratic presence as soon as I let my hand off of the handle, almost as if telling us that something bad is sure to come. I glance at Eion nervously, my eyes _screaming _at him to reconsider and think of another plan to help us survive. He doesn't look at me, though; instead, his eyes are cast on something standing at his feet.

Something small, hairy, and downright adorable. But I'm not fooled — not this time. The animals in this arena are nothing more than wolves in sheep's clothing.

"Are you here to start more shit with us?" Eion questions, voice hardening to that protective layer he has over the three of us. He takes a step back, but I don't fail to notice the way his hand inches towards the knife in his pocket. "Leave us alone! We don't have anything to do with you creatures!"

The rabbit somehow manages to look ashamed. "I-I'm sorry about m-my friends," it says, cowering under our intense stares. My heart instantly lurches out for this poor animal — but no, _no_, these things tricked us once and I can't let that happen again.

"We don't want to hear it." Eion turns around and motions for Ricky and I to follow him. But the rabbit quickly jumps in his way, eyes wide and teary.

"Wait! I-I'm not here to start trouble! I promise!" For some reason, it's fearful face and squeaky voice makes it insanely hard to turn away. "I don't know what I could possibly say to make up for the actions of my brethren, and I don't have a good reason for the actions either… But I'm supposed to take you three to the barn!"

At those words, I widen my eyes, and Eion actually starts to give the bunny a bit more of his attention. Take us to the barn…? The Cornucopia? How would the rabbit know about that? Unless, of course, the Capitol wants us to go to the Cornucopia a lot more than we believe, and they've engineered this messenger animal to make sure we get there.

_That can't be good. Something bad is bound to happen once we arrive._

"Y-You want to..?' Ricky coughs, shielding his face from the wind. It's getting more and more windy by the second. Is there supposed to be another storm? "You want to take us to the Cornucopia? Why? How do you know about—?"

"I really can't answer many questions, and I'm sorry," is the rabbit's immediate reply. Of course. "But I know what I need to do, and this is it. Please just follow me, okay? I promise I would never do anything to put you three in any immediate danger."

Eion glares at the thing — but his tough-guy facade is quickly slipping. "If you try and harm us…"

The rabbit smiles, all traces of sadness wiped clean. "I would never!"

And with that, the rabbit starts to hop away. I give Ricky a look. He gives Eion a look. Eion gives me a look. With one final nod, the last nod we'll probably ever make, we silently agree to follow this muttation.

I'm scared, _insanely _scared — but above all, I really do want to prove my worth to this alliance. I really don't want to be seen as inferior, even if I don't want to be seen as a super-hero. And if my idea to steal from the Cornucopia actually manages to help us rather than harm us…

_Okay, no wistful thinking, _I think, but I can't help but allow a small smile to grace my features. I begin following the animal, Eion and Ricky at my side. I want to have faith that we'll get through this. I really, really do. Eion is strong; without him, Ricky and I would more-than-likely be nothing but corpses. But while I'm nothing much, Ricky is actually physically strong and has a logical brain as well. I can't just cast us off as nothing more than casualities, right?

_That's right. I just need to think positive for once. _

No matter how deep my feeling of anxiousness is, I just need to ignore it and believe in my allies. Not myself, but my _allies_. Because without them, I would've died during the Bloodbath.

About thirty minutes of walking later...and we make it. The barn looms overhead, like an intimidating figure that promises nothing but gore — but I ignore that thought, instead focusing on the little things. I focus on the large windows at the side of the barn. I focus on the stack of barrels to the left of us. I focus on the trail of dried blood leading out of the door. I focus on—

_Wait, blood?_ Just like that, the real reason behind my fear surfaces. The _Pack_. Yesterday, the girl from District Two mysteriously met her end, but the other members of the Pack must still be inside. They _must_. And what if they were the ones to off the girl from Two? I wouldn't put it past them to betray their ally.

"I don't— I mean, the _Pack—_" I struggle to get my words out, eyes widened in complete horror. Eion glances at me, blanching at the sight of blood, while Ricky just stays silent. The rabbit is totally silent, cheerfully smiling like it's done nothing wrong. I take a moment to catch my breath before continuing. "What if they're in there? How are we honestly going to take a single thing if they're sitting right there, waiting for us? And oh Panem, they _have _to be in there waiting for us. That's why this little _monster _brought us here — so we could be slaughtered!"

I know I'm yelling; I know I'm hyperventilating; I _know _that this is extremely uncharacteristic of me. But how am I supposed to stay calm when these could be my last minutes alive? How could I ever fool myself into thinking that we were going to be okay, if only just momentarily? There's no way I'd even be able to go against the little boy from Three, let alone the monstrous boy from Two!

"Isabel, _please_, calm down." Eion places both of his hands on my shoulders, staring me straight in my eyes. He bites his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed — and I see that he's scared, so very scared, but he's trying so hard to hold it in. He's actually bottling up his emotions for Ricky, for _me _— and I don't want that. I don't want him to think that he has to take care of me all the time.

_But he does, doesn't he? Because you're nothing, Isabel. Absolute nothing. And the entire nation can see it._

"Isabel, I know you're scared. And you know what? I'm scared too, man. I'm so fucking scared right now." He gulps, but his bluish gray eyes stay locked on mines. I'm absolutely mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze as he continues. "But we need to do this. We need these supplies to stay alive, Isabel. And what do you think will happen to us if we just decide to run away when we're literally right at our destination? They'll make sure we never run again — _ever_."

"We need to do this, Isabel…" Ricky whispers, his hands trembling as he grips the large knife in his possession. I break away from Eion's gaze, now staring at the quiet boy from Ten as he decides to talk. "I… I came to the Capitol thinking that nothing I'd ever be able to do would allow me to get through these Games. I thought that...that London would surpass me in every way possible. But she's d-dead — and I'm alive. Me, of all people, actually made it this far. I even killed a mutt last night! I finally have hope, y'know? It's so twisted, and I don't...I don't even know why I'm saying this...but…" He awkwardly looks away, and I notice his hand has finally stopped shaking. He's clutching the knife with a cold determination I've never, ever seen in my ally before. "I think we can do this. I think we can do _anything_. We just have to try…"

I take a step away, allowing Eion's hands to slide off my shoulders. _We just need to try? Isn't that what I've been doing? I've… I've always been trying, right?_

No… No, I haven't been trying hard enough. I would always emulate others, doing everything in my power to be normal like them — but in reality, I was only doing the bare minimum. I was only expecting everything to fix itself, and then I would wallow in self-pity when it didn't work out. Is this why I'm suffering? Is it because I don't even try before I knock myself down?

"...You two are right." I exhale, allowing the tears to slide down my cheeks. Eion's eyes are watery, too, while Ricky just keeps his head down. "You two are absolutely right. I'm so sorry for...losing it."

I slowly take out my own knife, biting my lip as the sharp edge shines in the sunlight. The mere thought of me being able to hurt someone with this weapon is laughable — but I'm not going to let myself be limited by that thought anymore. I'm not going to let my insecurities hold me back anymore.

_Or rather, I'll try. _And that's enough. For now, if I can just try, then that'll be enough for me. If I can just stand next to my allies and fight for them, for _myself_…

I turn back towards the barn, its wooden doors staring me straight in the face. Inside is our treasure. And we might just die, but at least we'll die trying. If I can at least do that, then maybe my entire life wouldn't have been a waste. Maybe I'd actually be someone, someone _normal_, before the world turns to black.

I'd like that. Death or not, I'd like that a lot.

"Okay, guys," Eion says, gripping his own knife. He exhales. "Let's do this."

With one last tentative pause, my district partner pushes open one of the doors to the barnhouse.

* * *

**Kostos Sylett, 18;**

**District Two Male.**

I want to go home.

Back in District Two, I'd laugh in your face if you told me that I'd be feeling homesick in the arena. The Hunger Games was supposed to be the one thing that would truly complete me. It _was_. And trust me, I had no other options; I would never willingly volunteer myself to kill people if I didn't truly think it was the absolute only way.

But now… I don't know. I just don't know. Saying that I regret my decision would be like a knife in the gut — because _I _was the one who trained for this, and _I _was the one who ran onstage and smiled at the cameras. I was the one who shot that girl from Seven during the Bloodbath. I was the one who shot that girl from Ten just yesterday night.

I _can't _regret my decision. Because if I do, all it does it make me a truly horrible person. And despite my devil-may-care attitude, I really don't want to see myself as that sort of person.

_So why do I still feel so empty inside? Why am I not enjoying myself..?_

"Kostos," Adeline mutters, tapping my shoulder. I blink back to reality, looking away from the clouds above and meeting my ally's desolate gaze. After last night, I don't think this girl from One will ever be the same.

_And why aren't you breaking apart? How can you continue to smile, knowing just how many lives you managed to destroy in the span of five days?_

"What is it, Ms. Callard?" I hum, faking a grin. _Faking_. Just like what I've been doing for my entire life. In here, it's no difference. I _am _breaking apart — but at the same time, I'm keeping it together, because I'm used to feeling like garbage.

_Why did you do this, Kostos? What could have possibly convinced you that this was the only way of filling the void in your heart?_

_SHUT UP._

Adeline doesn't respond. Instead, as her eyes look away from mine in clear depression, she holds out a note. On the ground next to us, my eyes hone in on a white parachute. Did we get a sponsor while I was zoned out? And why only a note?

Shrugging, I gently take the paper out of her hand, knowing that any harsh movements could possibly tear her apart. With her eyes focused on the ground, and a thick silence forming, I quickly open the letter and begin to read.

_Go to the Cornucopia. Now._

_ —Arsen._

"I don't want to go," Adeline whispers, her voice getting softer with every syllable. I can just see the life draining out of her body, leaving only a shell of a girl. She's nothing like the Adeline who smiled at me during the Chariots, or giggled whenever I complimented her beauty. She's nothing but a product of the Hunger Games now; she's nothing but an example of what happens to good-hearted people.

_And I'm not a good-hearted person. I'm a horrible, horrible person..._

"We have to go." The words come out of my mouth mechanically, with no compassion laced underneath. Last night, I eased her into the role of a killer, and now she's broken. Doing the same now would just be wrong. "Adeline, you must know now that there's nothing we can do or say against the Capitol. If they want us to go, then we go. If they want us to fight, then we fight."

Before the Games, I used to be in awe of the Capitol. I was amazed at the fact that they brought thirteen districts to their knees, all on their own. Now I know the truth. The Capitol isn't awe-inspiring — it's simply scary. All of this is just scary.

I don't want to go to the Cornucopia either. If I could just sit here and watch the clouds for the rest of my time in the arena, I would.

But I can't. Because while I'm apparently a fan-favorite, I now know that they wouldn't hesitate to off me if I wasn't providing the entertainment they desire. Once again, just like in Two, I'm only being loved because of the entertainment I can bring. Nobody _truly _loves me — the real me.

But I'm so far gone from the real Kostos. The real Kostos would have never let Echo kill the two from Five, especially when both of them remind me so much seven siblings back home. The real Kostos would never be in this place, filled with people who wouldn't bat an eye at my death.

I don't even see myself as Kostos anymore. I don't know who I am. I just know that… I just know that I don't want to die. I still have hope, even if it's small. I still believe, just a little, that becoming a Victor will finally fill the void that's been living inside of me for as long as I can remember.

"Let's go, Adeline…" I pick up my bow and arrows from the ground, attaching them both to my back. Then, I pick up my backpack filled with supplies, holding it around my shoulder. Last but not least, I grab the deadly-looking sword off the ground — my gift for eliminating two competitors last night.

Adeline starts to cry, silent tears flowing down her face. Nonetheless, she does as I say, grabbing her supplies and sliding her blood-stained dagger inside of her pants. After she's done, her eyes gaze over to me — and for a moment, we just stare at each other. Two depressing souls, one falling apart and one already too used to feeling like trash.

I can't stop the chuckle from coming out of my lips. "We make a good team."

I'm such a bastard.

Using the compass given to us a few days ago, Adeline and I begin walking to the Cornucopia. The wind picks up, blowing our hair all over the place, but we both try to ignore it and continue walking. I notice that the arena looks surprisingly more dreary than usual. Sure, the rain from yesterday should make this a very uncomfortable place — but somehow, that old Gamemaker has managed to clear everything up by the time we woke up this morning. Just like he did a few days ago…

I'm starting to see a pattern.

But still, instead of the cartoonish atmosphere, the area around us looks more like a dream. The grass is sparkling, yet dropping. The sun is shining, yet it's as if there's a cloud of depression circling around us. And the air just feels..._off_.

"This really does look dreamy," I say to myself, frowning. "A _bad _dream..."

After about thirty minutes of walking, we finally make it to the barn. Adeline looks like she's going to start bawling, but she's clenching her fists tight and trying to hold it in. I tilt my head, staring at the barn in slight bewilderment. Why do they want us here in the first place? The only thing I can think of is a fight between us verses Echo and Terrance — but Echo is dead.

I wince at that thought. My angry district partner was a bitch. She truly was. But… But she was still from home. No matter how angry I was at her for kicking Adeline and I out, I didn't seriously want her to die.

I still remember the first amount of interaction we had; I tried to flirt with her, and she slammed me against a wall…

Shaking my head, I harden my eyes. I don't know _how _she died, but it doesn't matter. She's _dead _— and surely Terrance isn't crazy enough to take both of us on by himself. So why are they bringing us here? Am I missing something?

"Let's go inside," I say, taking out my bow and equipping an arrow. _Whatever's inside, you know what you have to do. No hesitation. No regret._

I volunteered for this. I can't… I can't lose spirit now. I _need _to win; I _need _to make something of myself. And this is the only way. This _has _to be the only way. Swallowing my guilt and hesitation, I nod at Adeline — who slowly shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks — and kick open the door.

Everything starts moving in slow-motion. My eyes narrow, darting left and right, desperately trying to find whatever the Capitol wants us to finds. A second passes, and I find it — or _them_. The dark-skinned girl from Twelve is frozen in place, hands deep inside of a black backpack. The fiery-haired boy from Twelve is clutching a spear, eyes widened in absolute surprise. And then there's the boy from District Ten, a backpack around his shoulder, and a shell-shocked expression on his face.

I only have a second to be surprised. As soon as they notice and realize just who we are, I raise my bow and aim at the closest person.

The boy from Ten.

_Ricky_.

"No—!" His cry of panic is cut short as I release my hold on the string. The arrow cuts through the air, fast and furious — and just like with the girl from Seven and the girl from Ten, my arrow sinks deep into Ricky's head. There's a bloodcurdling _squelch _as his skull is torn apart, and then a muted _bang _as his limp body hits the wooden floor.

**BOOM!**

_No regrets._

Everything after that moves so fast.

"_RICKY!_" The boy from Twelve wails, his voice breaking, and he runs over to his dead ally's body. Beside me, Adeline _screams_, sobbing as she turns around and rushes out of the barn. The girl from Twelve doesn't make a sound as she slams her backpack against the window, shattering it to pieces — and then, with one last look of utter sorrow towards her district partner, she climbs out the window and disappears.

All the while, I'm frozen in place. One side is telling me to shoot the girl from Twelve before she can escape. Another side is telling me to shoot the boy from Twelve while he's distracted. And then there's one side telling me to rush after Adeline before she abandons me and I never see her again.

But I don't do either of those things. I _can't_. For a moment, I simply close my eyes and try to make sense of my actions. Why did I kill him? _Because he's another tribute who would get in your way. _Why are you here, doing these horrible things? _Because it's the only thing I can do. Because filling the void in my heart will always come before anything else._

Why don't you care?

I blink back tears, biting my lip to keep from showing any emotion. I'm not _supposed _to care for these people. I don't even _know _these people. They're just tributes. After I win, nobody will care about any of them. They'll be irrelevant. They _need _to _just _be _irrelevant_.

"R-RICKY…!" The boy from Twelve sobs, hugging his ally's limp body. "Ricky... No... _P-Please…_"

"Stop crying!" I snap, taking out an arrow. I quickly equip the sharp item, aiming the bow right at the boy's head. "Just _stop_! He… He's _dead_. You can't change that!"

I should shoot him right now. It would be so, so easy. But I won't. I _can't_. All I can think about is how _wrong _this is, about how wrong _I _am, about how _stupid _I was for thinking that volunteering for the Hunger Games would have changed anything. I'm still nothing. I don't feel any better.

I feel _worse_. I'm a monster — and that's all I'll ever be.

A stupid, disgusting _monster_.

If my only purpose is to kill other teenagers… That's not a world I want to live in. That's _not _the type of person I want to be.

With the boy from Twelve still crying, and the pungent stench of death warping my senses, I spin on my heel and run as fast as I can — away from the Cornucopia, away from the blood, away from _everything_.

* * *

**Terrance Vallier, 16;**

**District Nine Male.**

As of late, things have _not _been working out for me.

I think my sour luck started right after I killed Echo. Not only did that old Gamemaker run me away from the Cornucopia with those snakes, but immediately after I had to fight for my life against a giant rat. Yes, a _rat_. I know that this arena is supposed to symbolize some sort of farm, with the barn and the talking farm animals, but I didn't think the Gamemaker would go so far as to mutate the animals to be so deadly.

It's strange. Back in the Capitol, that old man didn't seem like he wanted to be there at all. He stared at us in a sorrow that nobody in his position should ever possess. And yet, now that the Games have truly begun, it's almost as if he's an entirely different person. The amount of thought and detail put into the systematic killing of twenty-three teens is almost borderline-OCD.

I almost managed to believe that he wouldn't be a factor in these Games at all. But now I know how wrong I was to think _that_. I know he's just doing a job — a job that could end his life if done inadequately — but I can't help but feel conned. He's far more cruel than I ever gave him credit for.

Anyway, after somehow managing to kill that huge rat, I got my very first sponsor of the Games. My escort sent me a map of the entire arena, along with markings on where each tribute was staying. _Extremely _helpful. I'm not quite riled up by the thought of killing another human-being, but I don't think I'm the only one when I say that these Games have progressed far too slowly for my liking.

I just want to go.

Funny thing for me to think, huh? Aren't I supposed to be the bad guy? I manipulated the Capitol into thinking I was on their side; I joined the Careers for the sheer purpose of ruining them afterwards; I literally backstabbed the biggest threat that these Games had to offer. Without Echo being portrayed as the villain, doesn't that title automatically go to the one who killed her? _Me?_

Well, the real world isn't as simple as that. I'm human, just like everyone else, and I deserve to go back home just as much as anyone else. Sure, I've killed two people during my time in this place, but it's not like I did it out of malicious intent. In the end, twenty-three of us are going to be dead — so why prolong that? That little boy from Eleven wasn't going to win; taking him out of the competition was me being merciful, if anything. And while Echo could've definitely killed a few more people before her death, I didn't want to risk her realizing my true intent and killing me before I even had the chance to attack.

People love to overthink things — but in the end, it's quite simple. I want to go home. And if I have to kill to do that, I'll do it without batting an eye. I don't know these people. They're absolutely nothing but strangers. So people in the Capitol and the Districts can call me a villain all they want, I honestly don't care; I just don't want them to get the wrong idea about why I'm doing everything I've done.

Anyway, after getting the map, I quickly used that opportunity to eliminate another competitor. The easiest tribute to kill, I believed, was the lone girl from Six. I went to her location in the overwhelmingly high wheat field — and when she realized just who I was, I attacked. Unfortunately, though, things got a bit dour when she took me by surprise and relentlessly pounded me with her fists.

I bristle whenever I think of that scenario. How could I have let that little brat get the upper hand so easily? Despite how she looks, though, she's stronger than the average thirteen-year-old girl — especially considering how long she's been in this damned place. The Hunger Games has a way of changing people, I realize. It changed Adeline into a screaming, crying, stuttering mess. It changed Kostos into a mentally fragile mess. It even changed Echo into a shell of her former fury.

But the Games won't be changing me. Not now, and not ever.

Anyway, after that crushing blow to my self-esteem last night, I decided to stay inside of the wheat field and plan my next course of action. I realize now that running headstrong into another tribute, even a weaker one, isn't exactly the smartest thing to do. Now that I'm without an alliance to fall back on, I'm a lot more vulnerable. I'm intelligent, obviously — but I need to be _more _intelligent if I'm going to make it out of this place intact.

Placing the rest of my bread inside of the backpack and wiping off my mouth free of crumbs, I go into my pocket and take out the map. It's better if I look at it now, before it gets too dark and I'll have to wait until tomorrow to start planning.

"Okay, let's see…" I stare at the remaining points labeled on the sheet of paper. That girl from Six, Ceres, is no-doubt far away from here, so her coordinates are unprofitable. Kostos and Adeline were presumably near the giant tree last night, but I doubt they're still there, and I'm definitely not going to pick a fight with them right now anyway. The boy from District Four, Caio, was alone right in the open. He'd be an easy target, if he was still there.

That's the problem. I wasted my opportunity on trying to kill Ceres, and now everyone is bound to have moved away by now.

_Unless, of course…_ I place my finger on one of the three houses situated around the farm. If a tribute is staying here, surely they wouldn't have a real need to leave so soon, right? Unlike the people who were walking out in the open, these people have shelter from the upcoming storm that's sure to show up tomorrow. If I'm right, going to one of those houses would be the only way to find and eliminate another one of my competitors.

"Which house will it be..?" I hum to myself, gliding my finger across the three different buildings. The first one is presumably occupied with the pair from Twelve and the boy from Ten. While I don't see either of them as a real threat, I feel like going against three tributes wouldn't be the absolute brightest idea.

The next house is occupied by the females from Four and Eight — Ula Dylan and Kaya Vause, respectively. Fighting against two tributes is better than three, I admit, but Kaya's blaring score of _8 _isn't exactly comforting. And Ula got a _5_. Not exactly the best odds.

My last and only real bet is the last house, which is apparently being guarded by the boys from Three and Seven. Tet Kender and Daniel Church, hm? While the little thirteen-year-old got a _5_, I still can't help but see him as nothing but a brat that got lucky. Daniel, however, matches my training score of _7_. Could I defeat him in a one-on-one fight? Probably.

But what if I catch them both by surprise? What if I sneak inside and attack in the dead of night? _They'll never know what hit them._

Satisfied with that idea, I place the map back in my pocket and quickly begin to pack up. I won't be killing them tonight. I need to stake out for a bit, go through my plans and backup-plans. But soon, very soon, they'll be dead. And that'll be another two tributes out of my way.

Unconsciously, as I continue packing, I can't help but think of the very first day of training. Daniel approached me, nothing but a mess of awkward, and remarked that I reminded him of his younger brother. That day seems so, so far away, however. No matter what conversation he tried to start with me, it doesn't matter. I'm going to kill him.

_What must be done, it will be done._

With that thought single thought flowing through my brain, I pick up my backpack and begin walking out of this maze of wheat.

* * *

**Ricky Laris, 13th: Sarah, Ricky was one of my favorite males in this story. When I first got your form, I absolutely loved him — and then we had to change his district, because Jakey stole D12M, but I still loved him because he was sweet and kind and just a breath of fresh air from the overly competent males I had been receiving. He was just a good kid, y'know? When I first got to the Capitol, I'll admit, I kinda struggled to write him. He was so quiet, y'know, and his personality was always outshined by London's louder personality. But then, when he found his alliance with the Twelves (ironically, considering he was originally a Twelve himself), I think that's when I truly began to enjoy writing his character. He was just so nice, and he didn't have a rude bone in his body. Even in the Capitol, with emotions running high, he stayed true to himself and didn't completely spaz out like Ceres or got depressed like Michael. He was so balanced, maybe a bit insecure, but overall just a sweet and normal guy who didn't deserve to be placed in something like this. Admittedly, I could have taken his character and forced him into the killer road — but that would have broken him, and I didn't want him to die as a broken person. I wanted him to be himself, all the way to the end. And he was. Thanks so much for submitting him, Sarah! It's because of Ricky himself that we became the friends we are now. :)**

* * *

**Author's Notes: Sorry for the long wait, guys. With school being a pain in the ass, and then my new SYOT having officially started, it took longer than expected for me to actually finish. But I did finish, and I'm GOING to finish this entire story! Everything else be damned! The only POV I can sincerely say I'm proud of is Isabel's, unfortunately, but hopefully you guys will enjoy it? I don't know. P-Please don't hurt my feelings in the reviews…**

**By the way, I guess you can see that things are starting to finally speed up. People are actually dying. And tributes WILL be affected by the deaths of other tributes. Sure, some tributes like Terrance are indifferent, but other tributes like Eion won't just be able to shake off Ricky's death. I don't like SYOTs that make death so….simple. Because it's not. Neither is killing. I don't expect most Careers to nonchalantly chop through a group of tributes without feeling at least a BIT of remorse. The Arena gets to everyone, and you're going to see a side to some of these remaining tributes that you probably thought you'd never see….**

**BY the way, um, I know that some tributes are being a bit neglected? I don't know if that's the right word? I don't know — but I'd like for you all to know that the tributes you haven't heard a lot from will be making an appearance in the next chapter, so please don't worry. I try to make POVs even, but sometimes that just can't happen. Too many things are going on, and with only 3 POVs per chapter, it's hard to include every single tribute so often, especially when they aren't doing much in the first place. Okay? Okay.**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**Your ally has just died right in front of you. You two were actually starting to become friends. What do you do? Run away to mourn their death with intense crying? Or do you gain vengeance on the person who killed them?**_

* * *

**Okay guys! Don't forget to review, and hopefully you enjoyed! **

**BAI!**


	27. Night Five

**acannoninthewind. blogspot. com**

**panemsgreatest. blogspot. com**

* * *

**Night Five.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Zander Engres, 17;**

**District Eight Male.**

I've been walking through this farm for days now, and I haven't seen nor heard any sign of Kaya and her lackeys. None of them have died yet — thankfully, considering I want to be the one to end their lives — but that just makes me more anxious to find them. Why are all three of them still alive? What are they doing that everyone else isn't?

It's a conflicting feeling. Hell, every feeling in my body since the Bloodbath has been conflicting. I don't particularly _want _to kill other people — but at the same time, I do, because the rush it gives me is absolutely out of this world. I don't particularly _want _to get excited over another cannon — but at the same time, I do, because it just means I'm one step closer to going back home.

_Home_. I almost smile at the mental image of my father, welcoming me back with open arms. He was always so stoic, so indifferent to everything I ever did. But can anyone really keep a straight face after witnessing the things I've done? Can any father _not _smile as their son becomes a champion?

I slit a boy's neck.

I cut off a girl's head.

I'm a _killer _— and at the end of these Games, I'm going to be a Victor. My father will finally love me, and we can finally get over the death of my mother. Everything will finally be alright.

_Not until Kaya is dead, though. _I bristle at the thought of my district partner, doing who-knows-what right now. I'm usually calm; I usually keep my emotions hidden behind a wall of pure uninterest. But that was before getting reaped. That was before Kaya made a fool out of me by rejecting my alliance request and then allying with the clowns from Four. I don't take things like that lightly — especially considering all of the emotions running rampant through my body.

I barely even remember the reason I wanted to ally with her. She wouldn't stop talking during the train ride, I think, and then I… I thought of the perfect idea. I thought that I could manipulate her into doing my bidding, before I stabbed her in the back during the finale. Yes, that would've been absolutely _perfect_.

But no, she just had to decline. I know that my father will never know about that embarrassing moment — but _Kaya _knows, and who knows what kind of shit she's been spouting about me to her allies? What if she's been making a fool out of me, and the Capitol's been broadcasting it to everyone?!

"You stupid slut!" I scream, stomping the ground, clenching the two scimitars in my hands. My face gets hot, so hot that I'm pretty sure it'd explode if I got any angrier. I just can't… I just can't _stand _her! "It's not fair! I deserve to win! I… I deserve to win how _I _wanted to win! How dare you ruin my plans with your stupid, stupid, _stupid_—!"

I don't even know how to finish that sentence. I throw my two weapons to the ground, huffing, trying and failing to calm myself down. I don't… I don't want to lose control. I almost lost my cool during the Bloodbath, and during my fight with that dead District Ten whore, and even yesterday when I ran out of food. The rage is always there, bubbling underneath my skin, threatening to burst from even the smallest amount of pressure.

But I can control it. I can. I just… I just need to do something to occupy my mind.

I need to kill something — or _someone_.

I pick up my weapons, biting my lip to try and contain the growl from leaving my throat. I inhale, slowly, before exhaling. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"Okay," I say aloud, not even worrying over the fact that I'm talking to myself. I'm not crazy. Not yet. "Okay, I'm calm. I'm calm. I just… I just need to find her. That's all I want. All I want...is to just find her...and torture her until she's nothing but a bloody piece of flesh."

_But where is she?_

Almost as if responding to me, I hear a loud _ding _come from above. I look up, my eyes widened in complete shock. Floating down towards me is none other than a white parachute, a gray box attached to the end. Is this a..?

It _is_. An actual sponsor. My Capitol escort, Sabina, told me right before Launch that the odds of me getting anything during the Games was slim. Apparently I'm not a fan-favorite — as if I give a fuck. So what is this? Did those idiots in the Capitol change their minds about me?

I grab the box out of the air, tearing away the white parachute and throwing it to the ground. It's a bit heavier than I expected, which makes me a tiny bit interested. What could be in here? Food would be great, sure, but I'm not exactly in an eating mood.

Opening the box, my eyes widen even more at the contents inside. First, a sheet of paper, with words sloppily scribbled on top. I move that to the side, saving it for later, and focus on the _actual _contents. Tilting my head, I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out what it actually is. It looks like a bunch of tan rectangular bricks, tied together with black, red, and yellow wires. Turning the box around, I see that there's a sort of alarm clock attached to the back of the bricks, with a big red button on the left side. Now what in the hell could this be..?

..._Oh_.

I almost drop the package when I realize what it is. A _bomb_. An actual _bomb_.

A chill runs down my spine, despite the tingle of excitement flowing through my veins. Why is the Capitol giving me a bomb? What do they honestly expect for me to achieve with something like this in my possession? I mean, sure, it's easily the most destructive thing in the arena right now...but how am I supposed to use this against someone when I don't even know where anyone _is_?

Immediately, the thought of the Pack comes to mind, hiding in the Cornucopia like scared puppies. I could go back to the barn, leave this there, and then run away as the Pack explodes into fiery nothingness. That would be three competitors already out of the way, leaving less than half of us in the arena.

_But I don't want to do that_, I mentally pout, frowning at the idea of ending my quest for Kaya. I have no business with the Pack — not yet, anyway. All I want to do is end my redheaded district partner before someone else beats me to the punch. But if Kaya saw me with this bomb, there's no doubt in my mind that she'd turn tail and run before the explosion could hit her.

"...Meaning this stupid thing is useless!" I scream, clenching my fists to keep from slamming the contraption to the ground. Instead, I reach down and pick up the note I carelessly threw to the side. Maybe this will tell me something else I could do?

_Zander, it's been really tough, but I've managed to scrape up just enough money to send you this bomb. Be very grateful, okay? Basically, the main reason you've managed to get this is because most of us Capitolites have fallen out of favor with Ms. Vause. She's openly rebellious towards us — and that's not a very good look, I'm sure you'd know. Nobody really understands why you have a personal vendetta against Kaya, but nobody cares at this point. If you want to kill her, use this map to go to her destination, and throw the bomb inside of her house. I'm sure you know the consequences if you should fail._

_P.S: When you get back to the Capitol, you MUST try this cinnamon-dipped apple! It's healthy while also being absolutely delicious!_

— _Sabina._

My eyes widen as they skim over the note, excitement suddenly pumping through my veins. Turning the paper over, a smile slowly creeps along my face. It's a map! A map of the entire arena! I study the paper thoroughly, taking note of the fact that the Pack seems to be completely separated, as well as the fact that there are only twelve of us left in the arena. That nervous-looking boy from Four seems to have abandoned his two allies, interestingly enough, who both seem to be huddle inside some house.

_That's _where they've been the entire time? A stupid house?! A surge of rage fills my veins — but no, no, this is good. This is _great_. I'll deal with the District Four boy afterwards, but I'm going to end both the District Four girl and my district partner in one foul move.

I take one more look at the map of the arena. Inside of the Cornucopia is the boy from District Twelve, while the girl from Twelve seems to be stuck inside another house directly adjacent to Kaya's. The two boys from Seven and Three are inside of the last house, and the boy from Nine isn't too far from them. The girl from District One is off to the edge of the arena, doing who-knows-what, while the boy from Two is located in some kind of wheat field. The boy from District Four is near a lake, close to the District Twelve girl, while the girl from Six is close to the Cornucopia.

"Okay, this is perfect," I say to myself, rolling the map up and placing it in my pocket. I focus my attention to the bomb in my left hand, almost grinning at the huge amount of power I possess right now. I could seriously hurt somebody. I could _kill _them. No, I wouldn't get the satisfaction of watching them slowly bleed to death, but I _would _be rid of another competitor. And Kaya Vause.

Yes, she dies _tonight_.

* * *

**Ula Dylan, 18;**

**District Four Female.**

Something is coming.

I don't know how I can tell, or _why _I can tell, but I just know that something bad is about to start. They've let Kaya and I sit in this house for literally three days, while half of us tributes are already dead. We haven't contributed to those deaths whatsoever — and unless they like listening to Kaya go on and on about random things, then we haven't been the most interesting tributes either.

So why? Why hasn't the Gamemaker done something? I expected him to at least send a few muttations our way, but it's almost as if the Capitol has forgotten about us.

I know that I should be grateful — but I'm _not_. I'm not grateful for being in these horrible Games, even if I'm not being targeted. No, I'm nervous, almost anxious that something really bad is about to happen to us. Maybe not tonight, but what about tomorrow? An entire week being in the arena and not a single kill? That's nearly unheard of.

"It got dark quicker than I thought it would," Kaya notes, staring out the window. There's a constant frown on her face, but she almost seems content being in this dilapidated house. Better than being outside, I guess, but _still_. Kaya's tranquility almost bothers me.

Shrugging, I open my mouth to quietly respond. "I guess we'll be able to see who died soon."

Morbid, I know, but it's hard to disconnect myself from the reality of things. I'm in the Hunger Games. People have died. If I'm not careful, _I _could die. And I don't want to die. I can't afford to die. My family wouldn't be able to keep going without me.

Kaya is the one to shrug this time, though the sadness shining in those bright blue eyes of her is almost overwhelming. For such a fiery girl, she sure knows how to let her raw emotions show. I'm almost the exact opposite. Nobody ever really knows how I truly feel about things. Nobody ever really knows my true personality. I've been called bubbly, I've been called dangerous, and I've been called sneaky. I _am _all of those things — but at the same time, I'm not.

It's easy to fake my personality and be exactly what people want me to be. Years and years of observing people have blessed me with this skill. The Capitol sees a girl that will do anything for them. Kaya sees a girl who shares her own loathing of the people who've placed us in here. My family sees a protective older sister who wouldn't hesitate to defend her family.

I'll be all of those people to get back home — or none of them at all, if I need to. I just… I just really can't meet my maker in this place. I just _can't_. I'm afraid of death. The unknown usually intrigues me — but with the cold sting of death, it's terrifying.

So I can't screw up. I can't forget the real reason I'm inside of this arena. I can't let the idleness of the Games distract me from the ultimate outcome. Twenty-three of us dead, and one of us left alive and traumatized.

"Tell me about your sisters," Kaya suddenly blurts — and just like that, my brave facade trembles. What? "I mean, I don't have any siblings. My mom didn't even plan to have me, at least not as early as she did. My auntie was sorta like a sister to me, but… Anyway, yeah, I want to know about your family. I like knowing how people's lives contrast to mine."

I bite my lip, trying to keep back the rushing emotions. I haven't talked about my family since my interview, and even then I was only giving the audience what they wanted to hear. _A perfect life for the Capitol's perfect puppet, after all_. And besides, I'm more of the listening type anyway. That's probably why Kaya and I get along so pleasantly, because she doesn't stop talking and I don't stop listening.

But she wants to know about my family. Why? Doesn't she know that knowing more about your ally will just make it hurt more when they're dead? Why doesn't this redhead from District Eight understand that the Capitol isn't the only enemy?

_I'm _the enemy. I may not want to be, but I _am_. I am and I _hate _it.

"Um…" I shift uncomfortably, resting my head against the wall. "Well… My mom was brave and...and she was very, very kind and selfless. She was so selfless that...that she ended up getting herself killed because of her...intense sense of justice."

"That sounds like me," Kaya whispers, already hooked.

I nod, gulping down tears. _Why are you breaking down, Ula? Mom's been dead for so long now. Haven't you moved on?_

...No, I haven't. I really, truly, honestly have not moved on from my mother's death. The Capitol _killed _her! They burned her alive! They threw her into a building and set the place on fire! How can anyone get over the fact that their mother was murdered in cold blood? How can anyone get over the fact that the people I'm trying to charm are the same group of people who did that horrendous act towards her?

"I bet they recorded it, too." Tears stream down my cheeks, but I make no move to wipe them. As soon as the dam falls, there's no way to stop the water from rushing past my defenses. "Those sick bastards… I bet they recorded the moments until my mom's death. A-And why not..? Why wouldn't the people who glorify children murdering each other? Who says that they aren't laughing at my mom's video right now? Who says that they aren't laughing at _me_?!"

I jump up from my spot on the floor, slamming my fists against the wall. Why have I been trying to woo these evil people? Why have I been trying to make friends with the very people who murdered my mother?! What kind of sick, demented, selfish person am I?!

"I HATE YOU ALL!" I scream, punching and kicking the wall. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO TEAR FAMILIES APART?! WHAT GIVES YOU PEOPLE _ANY _RIGHT?! THIS IS EVIL! THIS IS SO, SO, SO FUCKING EVIL!"

I bring my hands back to slam into the wall, but Kaya suddenly grabs my wrist, stopping me. I whirl around, snatching my arm away, grinding my teeth and glaring to keep from sobbing. Instead of Kaya looking scared, however, she looks almost...understanding?

"Ula, calm down." There's a softness to her voice, but it's almost drowned out by the intensity she's giving off. Hard, unadulterated determination. "Please, just listen to me. Calm down. I've wanted to explode like that, too. _So _many times. And I have. Every day we were in the Capitol, I cried and broke down in my room. But I promised myself that I wouldn't let _them _see me cry. And I won't. They don't deserve to see us at our worst, or else they've really won."

I start panting, trying to keep my sobs at bay. The tears still stream down my cheeks, but I try and give my ally a reassuring smile. "It's…" I gulp, laughing at my own expense. "It's so hard, Kaya… It's just so hard sometimes…"

"I know…" She reaches out to touch my shoulder, but then grips my hands instead. With her blue eyes sparkling, she shakes her head. "It's the hardest thing in the world, but we'll make them pay. I _promise_. They're going to pay for what they've done to—"

That's when everything explodes in a blur of red and black.

A sharp, haunting _boom _hits me straight in the brain, forcing the tears out of my eyes and a scream out of my throat. I stagger, falling to my knees — only for the floor below me to crumble and break apart. I scream again, reaching out for my redheaded ally — but I can't reach her. The sound of _screaming _and _breaking _and worlds _falling apart_ unfurl throughout the darkness flashing in my eyes. Before long, I realize that I'm falling, falling, _falling_. The smell of gasoline hits my nose, horribly putrid, before another smell permeates throughout my body. A familiar, evocative smell.

I hit the ground hard, landing straight on my right leg. My _weak _leg. I scream again, clenching my hands to keep from blacking out. The pain is almost unbearable. Almost. Tears streaming down my face, I bite my lip and groan, turning to lay on my stomach. Darkness creeps at the edge of my vision — but no, no, no. I can't black out. I have to fight through this — whatever _this _is.

"Ula!" I hear someone scream from the floor above. I force my neck to move, looking up at the gaping hole in the ceiling. Did I really fall through that? "Ula, oh God, _Ula…_!"

It's Kaya. I can barely make out her face due to the smoke blinding and suffocating me. She screams out more panic-induced words, but I can barely hear her anymore. The pain is too much. The confusion is too much. I don't… I just don't know…

_Stop! _I scream at myself, biting my tongue to get a grip on reality. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, but I relish in that sort of pain. That pain means I'm not dead. That pain means I'm still alive. I need to _think _rather than panic. I need to figure out what happened and _fix _it.

Searching through my scattered brain, I try and replay the events leading up to this moment. Kaya asking me a question. Me breaking down and screaming at the Capitol. Kaya grabbing my hands and reassuring me. And then…

The house blew up.

That's the only way I can explain it. The house erupted in a big fiery explosion of black and red. The floor beneath me fell apart, and I landed all the way down to the first floor. Kaya somehow managed to stay upright on the second floor. But why did this happen? Did the Capitol do this because of my rebellious outburst? Did they seriously turn on me the exact moment I revealed my true feelings?

I'm sobbing now, lying on the dusty floor because I don't have it in me to move anymore. My entire body hurts, physically and mentally. I feel betrayed; I feel heartbroken; I feel angry.

But more than anything, I feel fear. I feel regret. I don't want my little sisters to watch me die like this. I don't want them to have to go through the pain of losing me. I don't… I don't want the last memory of their older sister to be me screaming and cursing at the walls.

_That's why you need to move…! _I grit my teeth, reaching out to grab a broken table leg. The smoke is getting thicker, and it's getting harder to breathe — but I must fight through it. I can't, I won't, I _refuse _to die like this.

Through Kaya's screaming and the sound of the entire building falling apart, my ears pick up on something else. Something that the smell of smoke can't block me from. Something that nothing could ever really block me from, not after what happened to my mother. _Fire_. I can hear the fire burning away at the wood, getting closer and closer and closer to me. I can feel the heat radiating off of the flames, burning away at my skin with every second that passes.

"No..!" Panic rises above the fear, frantic and strong. I shake my head, grabbing the broken table leg and pulling myself farther from the fire. "No, no, no..! Kaya, p-please, I need you..!"

I start to cough — and I can _feel _my bodily organs beginning to shut down. I spit the blood out of my mouth, using all the strength I possess to pull myself away from the monstrosity that is fire. But I'm not fast enough, nor strong enough. The smoke is getting clogged up in my lungs, and the pain from my leg is far too agonizing to fight through.

The first licks of fire touch at my feet, burning away the shoes and leaving my skin defenseless. I _scream_, louder than I've ever screamed in my entire life. _I can't die like this! I can't! Please please please don't let me die like this! SOMEBODY SAVE ME!_

In the last moments of my life, it's not my sisters I see, nor do I reminisce of the sweet times I used to have with my family. The last thing I see before my world turns to black, and my screams turn to pain-filled sobs, is my mother lying right next to me, screaming and crying as she swings against the flames.

It's only natural that I die the same way.

* * *

**Kaya Vause, 16;**

**District Eight Female.**

**BOOM!**

At the sound of Ula's cannon, shaking the arena, it's as if my entire world falls apart. It's the exact same feeling I felt years ago, when I heard that auntie Keira was killed during one of the infamous District Eight bombings. The exact same sensation of hopelessness. The exact same sensation of regret. The exact same sensation of heartbreak.

Back then, the first thought that came to me was to cry. Because what else was I supposed to do? The most important person in my life was dead. Back then, crying was what made me feel better, if only momentarily.

But after a while, I realized that crying wouldn't do anything. I realized that my auntie was still dead, and that the Capitol was still the same, and that absolutely _nothing _had changed. Someone precious to me had died — and for absolutely nothing. A lifetime of love can't be fixed by a simple hour of tears.

No, tears were useless.

After the depression of losing auntie Keira passed, that's when the mind-numbing anger took over.

That's _exactly _what takes over now, as I stare down at the hole in the floor, my friend's corpse being burned to a crisp.

"ARGH!" I can't help myself; I grab a portrait off the wall and slam it on the floor, relishing in the sound of glass breaking apart. "THIS IS SO—" I stomp on the portrait, crunching the broken glass under my boots. "—SO—" Tears spring to my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away, falling on my knees and pounding against the shards of glass. "—SO FUCKING RIDICULOUS!"

There's a conflicting set of emotions battling in my body right now, each side trying desperately to take over. There's the part of me that wants to break down and sob over the death of Ula, a girl who volunteered only to save her younger sister. She didn't deserve to die like that — stricken down by the Capitol just because she let her true emotions momentarily show. _Nobody _deserves to die just because their opinion doesn't connect with the Capitol's almighty regime.

But then there's the other part, bubbling stronger and stronger underneath my skin. The part of myself that wants to break out of this arena and claw away at each Capitolite until they're all nothing more than blood and bones — even the children. Oh, and I can see it now; I can see myself as I stick my fingers through President Kronin's eyes and tear him apart from the inside-out. I can see myself as I grab my escort by her fatty rolls of flesh and slam her head into the concrete, harder and harder and _harder _until her skull cracks in half.

It's disgusting— no, _they're _disgusting! They're so fucking evil, so conceited, so monstrous that I can't even see them as human anymore!

And I want them to die. I want each and every one of them to die a slow, painful, agonizing death.

I want them all to _burn_.

"KIDS SHOULDN'T BE KILLING KIDS! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE HOW HORRIBLE THIS IS?!" I scream as loud as I can into the air, frantically pulling at my hair to keep calm. But I can't keep calm. This is just… This is just too much. How am I supposed to be able to cope with all of this craziness?!

Zander slit Breno's throat. Caio abandoned us during the night. The animals attacked us with the pure intent to kill. And now, just because Ula had a tiny moment of weakness, that old fart of a Gamemaker blew her up.

_So _much shit has happened — and how am I supposed to be able to handle this on my own? I'm just a sixteen-year-old girl. I came to the Capitol thinking that maybe I could change everything. I came thinking that maybe I could be what Panem needs, that maybe _I _could change this country all on my own.

But I can't. I can't…

_Oh my God, I can't…_

"Don't let them see you cry," I mutter to myself, gritting my teeth, glaring through the tears. There's a sharp ache in my chest, like a knife just went through my ribcage, lathered with acid. My stomach is churning; my heart is racing; my head is _throbbing_. I want nothing more than to just fall over and cry myself to death, yet at the same time I want to fight through the hurdles and come out on top.

_Don't give up, Kaya. You can't give up now. You can't._

_But what's the point? Panem won't be changing. I can't change anything. I never could._

_Yes you can. You can, and you will. And what about the problem at hand? You're in the Hunger Games. If you don't get up, the smoke is going to suffocate you, and you're going to die._

_...So what? Maybe I should die. Winning wouldn't mean anything, not after twenty-three others have been publicly executed for that to happen. Living a life like this...just isn't something I'd like to do._

Even as the thought comes to mind, my arms and legs seem to move on their own as I push myself to my feet. Vision blurry with tears, I cover my mouth and nose with the crook of my arm, being careful as not to ingest any smoke. _I need to get out of here, _I think, desperately looking around. But how am I supposed to do that? There's no way I'd be able to jump over that large hole in the floor — and even if I could, going downstairs with that huge fire is not the smartest idea.

Suddenly, I randomly remember my first day of school. The kids all asked how my hair could be so red, and I offhandedly remarked that I was born on fire. Now that joke doesn't seem to funny.

The smoke is getting higher, thicker. I fight back a cough and continue looking around for some kind of exit. I don't know why I'm still trying to survive, especially with my entire morale burned to a crisp. Maybe it's the human's nature for self-perseverance, or maybe it's something mystical at work — but whatever it is, it's the only reason I have the energy to find the silver sheen of my sword lying on the floor.

I grab the handle, feeling a surge of power surge through me as I equip the weapon. I've been dealing with swords for my entire life — and even though this one was made by the Capitol, I still can't help but feel a sense of relief flood through my veins with it in my hands.

_Now you just need to find a way out. _I look around, trying to find out if there's some hidden escape route somewhere — but no, there's absolutely nothing. I'm trapped. Oh God, don't tell me I'm trapped up here, destined to slowly suffocate to death. That _can't _be how I meet my maker in this world.

That's when, underneath the smog of smoke, I see the slight sliver of moonlight coming through the window. As soon as my mind registers the window, my body moves on autopilot and I rush towards the glass with as much speed as I can muster. Closing my eyes, my shoulder makes impact with the window and breaks through the glass, shattering everything in it's path.

My body keeps moving. I hop over the small ledge and roll across the roof. With my heart in my throat, I feel myself fall off the roof — and for a moment I'm suspended in air, just falling with the wind blowing against me. But I'm not scared. There's no room for fear in my body, not anymore. The utmost thing on my mind is survival — and getting revenge on the sick fuckers who did this, no matter what.

The few seconds spent in the air are long gone as I make impact with the ground. I gasp, landing on my shoulder, feeling a sharp sting travel across my arm. There's a split second of pain as I lay on the grassy ground, staring at the starry night sky above — but that pain quickly turns to relief as I register that I'm _outside_, staring at the sky, _safe_.

I'm alive.

_But Ula isn't._

The adrenaline in my body is slowly coming to an end, allowing the many cuts and bruises I have to make themselves known. My entire body is throbbing in pain — but that pain just fuels the anger I feel, popping and scorching in the pits of my chest. I want revenge. I really, really, _really _want revenge. Those Capitol bastards killed Ula, _right _in front of me.

I might not be able to change this horrible country, but I _promise _that I'm not going to rest until Ula's killers are brought to justice. Even if I have to skin them alive, pull out each of their teeth, I _will _get my revenge. No amount of physical pain will be able to stop that.

"What?!"

I jump at the sound of that eerily familiar voice. _Is that..? _Looking up, I see that the source of that voice is none other than my district partner. Zander. What is he doing here..?

"Z-Zan—?"

"How could you still be alive?! That's impossible! How does someone survive a bomb?!" Zander stands still, at least twenty feet away, but the two blades in his hands are sharply uncomfortable. They're almost threatening.

But wait… What did he just say? How does he know about the explosion? Why does he look so disappointed in my survival..? There are so many questions running through my brain, and yet so little answers. But still, there's one thought that makes it to the very top of my thoughts, screaming at me to garner attention.

Breno.

"...Why..?" I shakily stand up off the ground, gripping my sword in my right hand. My thoughts are a frenzy right now, and I'm trying to keep my emotions away for now, as not to blow up on my district partner. "Why did you— Why did you kill Breno? What did he ever do to you, Zander?"

"Breno?" Zander's expression is one of disinterest, before his lips curl into a devilish smile. "Oh, that guy during the Bloodbath? Well, I couldn't find you, so I thought that I might as well gain your attention. Did it work?"

My blood runs cold. Zander really did kill Breno — and he did it to get my attention. He did it because he couldn't find me to slit _my _throat. After all this time, my district partner's skewed personality starts to make sense. His adamance on getting me to ally with him. His malevolence towards me after I allied with Caio, Ula, and Breno. His implied threat during his interview with Aeliana Devrine. All of it _finally _starts making sense — and God, oh my _God_, Zander is a complete maniac.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't find you after the Bloodbath, so I had to kill this other girl to keep me busy. It wasn't much fun, though, trust me. Really quick and clean. I wanted it to be drawn-out and bloody." Zander sighs, shaking his head and letting his unkempt red hair bounce up and down. "But tonight, I finally managed to find you! The Capitol so graciously gave me this map, as well as a bomb! They _want _you dead, just like I do! Isn't that just the most crazy coincidence?"

My head is starting to hurt, and my vision is getting blurry. Zander's words are so disturbing, and they're just pouring salt into currently bleeding wounds. I don't know whether to go with my gut or to believe everything that he's saying. _And if he's telling the truth, that means he's the one who killed Ula. He's the one who tore another hole into my already-damaged heart. _

His voice gets dramatically lower, and the spark in his eyes border on insane. "I guess that I'm kinda relieved you survived the explosion. Now I can see you die with my own two eyes…"

_Zander killed Ula. _

"You don't know how long I've been meaning to kill you."

Without warning, Zander charges at me, his two blades glinting in the darkness. Fire erupts in the pit of my chest — an angry, confused, powerful fire that threatens to destroy anything and _everything_. I let out a guttural scream, raising my weapon and slashing down at his neck. Zander blocks the attack with one of his blades, using his other one to cut into my torso. I jump to the side, narrowly dodging the blow and earning a small cut just above my hips.

"YOU KILLED THEM!" I yell, swinging furiously with my sword. He doesn't say anything; he's the one to jump away this time as I slash and strike at his body, doing everything in my power to cut my district partner to shreds. "YOU— I NEVER DID ANYTHING TO YOU! AND YOU KILLED THEM! YOU KILLED THEM!"

He laughs, somehow getting past my defenses and shoving me away. I fall flat on my butt, but then I roll to the left to avoid being skewered. Now the roles have been reversed; I'm doing everything in my power to avoid his swinging blades, while he's slashing every which way to decapitate me. I quickly crawl to my feet, ducking under another one of his strikes, feeling the wind pass me by in a horrifying _whoosh_.

I could seriously die here.

I'm obviously more experienced, but Zander has two weapons. I have a burning flame of determination backing me up, but the craziness in Zander's eyes is nearly deadly by itself. In a way, we're evenly matched, district partners squaring off in a fight to the bitter death.

It's exhilarating — and so very scary at the same time. I don't want to die. I can't _afford _to die. Not without doing everything I've wanted to do in this world. Not without getting my revenge.

And when you want revenge — _really _want revenge — then you're going to get it. One way or another, retribution will be dealt.

"Stop running, you worm!" Zander screams, his face contorted in an insane scowl. Gripping both blades, he swings them both at the same time, aiming both of them right at my neck. I quickly duck out of the way — but he must have expected me to do that, because his knee suddenly collides with my nose.

I scream, falling right back on the ground, instantly bringing a hand up to stop my bleeding nose. Pain blossoms in the center of my face, hot and cold at the same time, but it's because of my insane adrenaline that I'm not writhing on the ground. Instead, I immediately jump back up, bringing my hand back and chopping down with my sword. He doesn't expect that — or maybe he just can't move fast enough to avoid it. Whatever it is, the surprise on his face morphs into a grimace as my sword sinks deep into his shoulder.

_Yes, _I think, allowing a small smile to grace my features.

"YOU BITCH!" Zander screams. He immediately releases his weapons and lunges at my neck. I can do nothing but gasp as his cold, long fingers wrap around my neck and _squeeze _with the force of a thousand Avoxes. Darkness lingers at the corners of my vision — but no, no, no, no, NO. I won't let him do this! I punch at his face with my left hand, eliciting nothing more than irritated groans as my strikes hit him over and over again. I try to kick him where the sun doesn't shine, but it's like he can see into the future, because he brings my face down and knees me once more in the nose.

I hear a crack, and _hothothot _pain flares across my entire body. It's almost agonizing. Whimpering now, I let go of my sword, instead trying to pry his hands off of my neck. But it doesn't work. He's just too strong.

"Aw, what's that? Come on, Kaya, I expected a lot more from you." Zander laughs — a taunting, maniacal laugh that sends shivers down my spine. "You don't have anything to say? Really? I thought Ms. I-Talk-A-Lot would have a lot of words she'd like to say before her death. Aren't I right?"

The darkness stretches. The pain intensifies. All I can do is open my mouth to scream — except no sound comes out. For a split second, I _terrifying _second, I really do feel like I'm going to die. I really do feel like my time on this earth has come to an unsatisfied end.

_No, you can't let this happen. Zander killed Breno. Zander killed Ula. You can't let him kill you! You can't let someone like him win! He goes against literally everything you stand for, Kaya. You can't…_

_You can't die._

_...I can't die!_

With one last surge of strength, I bring my right hand back and punch him straight in his throat. He coughs in pain, eyes widening in complete shock. For a second, his grip on my neck loosens — and that's all the time I need to bend down and grab my sword from the ground. Zander lets out a flurry of curses, lunging at me once again — but I don't let him get far this time. With the oxygen coming back to my body, I feel strong again. I feel _invincible_.

I slash upwards, slicing right through Zander's left arm. He shrieks, falling to the ground right next to me. His arm, now limp and bloody, goes flying through the air before landing on the grass a few feet away. A tense, almost disturbing silence fills the area when I realize exactly what I just did.

I cut off Zander's arm.

"YOU— YOU—!" My district partner is at a loss for words. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he screams in agony, gingerly touching where his arm used to be. "YOU CUT OFF MY ARM..!"

A sickening, horrible feeling emanates through the pit of my chest, but I manage to swallow down the bile. Replacing that sick feeling is the same anger I felt minutes ago, when Ula was blown up and burned alive. It's the feeling of absolute misery, remorse, _rage_.

"AND YOU KILLED BRENO!" I bring my sword up again, levelling it above his left arm. He stares at me, eyes widening, shivering in what must be the worst pain imaginable. "You don't deserve to live, not after what you've done."

I stab Zander's left arm, ignoring his pain-filled screams. I then slice through it, cutting it off just like with his right arm. His screams have turned to sobs now. Disgusting, unfair sobs. People like him don't _deserve _to cry. People like him, who nonchalantly go along with the Capitol's wishes, are nothing but trash. They all need to be eradicated.

The Capitolites and him. I'll eradicate them _both_.

"THIS ISN'T FAIR…!" Zander's writhing on the floor, crimson red blood pooling out of his wounds. The sight is almost terrifying to look at, but I can't seem to tear my eyes away, as if glancing another way for one second will give him the chance to disappear. "I WAS SUPPOSED TO WIN. _I _WAS. I WAS… I WAS SUPPOSED TO…"

He trails off, staring into the sky with a deranged glint in those brown eyes of his. His chest rises, one more time, before it drops. And it doesn't come back up.

**BOOM!**

I wince at the sound of his cannon, instantly remembering Ula's. His pain was nowhere near _her _pain. His screams were nowhere near as loud as _her _screams. And it's all his fault, too. The Capitol chose him to do their bidding, and he agreed wholeheartedly. Now my friend is dead — and I'm alone. I'm _alone_. All because of one maniacal boy and an unjust society.

Feeling the tears starting to come back, I raise my sword and bring it down upon Zander's head. The blade enters his corpse like a soft balloon. Blood squirts out, and a nightmarish _squelch _rings through the silence — but I don't care. I just don't care anymore. He shouldn't have gotten the easy way out. I should have _tortured _him.

I stab Zander's dead body again, and again, and _again_. I stab him until he's nothing more than an unrecognizable pile of blood and flesh. Even as the Hovercraft comes to pick up what's left of his body, I don't stop. I _won't _stop. Not until the hole in my heart is filled with the sweet, righteous juice of vengeance.

Not until I've gotten enough revenge on the people who've ever harmed me.

_Even though I know I'll never be able to get enough._

* * *

**Ula Dylan, 12th: publicfigure, I am extremely sad to see Ula go. She was a little bit of everything in one character, and I loved that so much. People were honestly a bit uptight about her volunteering for her sister, especially with her damaged leg, but I personally enjoyed writing Ula and her quest to save her sister. Without that small detail, I feel like I wouldn't have been able to connect with Ula's character as much as I do now. She just wanted to protect her family while also doing anything she could to survive the Games, even if it meant lying to millions of people. Her personality differed from person to person, and ugh, I can't. I loved Ula. I really do. BUT hey, if you're up-to-date on my Hunger Games series, then you'll see that Isla ended up winning the Games in remembrance of her sister. :') I truly loved her, and may she rest in peace...**

**Zander Engres, 11th: Hoprocker, can I just say that I anticipated writing Zander the EXACT moment I got him. Seriously, the fact that you basically gave me such a good plot-character was just amazing, and I knew that I could do a lot with him. I seriously could have done so much with Zan. His mother's death and his father's indifference really had an effect on him, and it caused him to become a person that he truly wasn't. In my world, Zander wasn't the antagonist. He wasn't anything like that. He was just a kid who was mentally broken and obsessed with gaining his father's love. I'll miss him, and may he finally rest in peace...**

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**Author's Notes: Okay this is my favorite chapter ever. Seriously. I've been anticipating this chapter for a long while, okay. I know it might not look as good as it did in my mind, but I don't even care anymore. I finished, and that's all that matters. :)**

**Sorry, once again, for the long time it took the update. But honestly, I'm a busy person, and I can't even begin to make fanfiction my first priority, even if I wanted to. So yeah, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, but don't yell at me on how long this took because blegh.**

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_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**You just killed for the first time. And not only did you kill, but you left their body unrecognizable. How do you react to this? Do you vomit in disgust? Do you cry in guilt and shame? Or do you smile victoriously at your mini-victory?**_

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**Not many reviews last chapter, but that's okay! I really do appreciate all the ones I've been getting! Hopefully, if you have time, I'd really love a review! Especially from those people who seem to have left me. :)**

**BAI!**


	28. Day Six

**Day Six.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Daniel Church, 17;**

**District Seven Male.**

I open my eyes, immediately wincing at the sunlight hitting me square in the face. Turning away from the window, I curl into a ball, allowing my mind a few more minutes of rest before I start the day. I just… I just don't feel up for it today. _It _being the Hunger Games, of course.

I don't usually feel this lethargic when I wake up in the mornings, but there must be something in the air, because I really don't have the energy that I've had every other day in this arena. I just feel so...empty? Is that it?

Whatever it is, it causes me to lay on the floor for approximately five extra minutes before getting up. I roll on my feet and stretch my tired muscles, being careful as not to pull a muscle or anything. I'm not a very superstitious person, but I'd feel pretty unnerved if I had to start my day off so uncomfortably.

But honestly, I'm in the Hunger Games; there is no comfortable place in the arena, no matter who you happen to be. I've learned this the hard way. I thought that if I was a Capitol-favorite, that old Gamemaker would do anything and everything to keep me alive and comfortable. But obviously that's not true.

Echo was a Capitol-favorite, definitely, and she's been dead for a few days now. London from District Ten, too, was killed not too long ago. I realize now, favorites or not, that everyone in the arena is in trouble of dying a horrible death.

Even me.

Cringing at the thought of my demise, I glance at Tet, who's sound-asleep on the lone bed. This house has other rooms, sure, but I didn't feel comfortable leaving Tet alone during the night. I also didn't feel entirely safe on my own.

_You're going to have to get over that, Daniel. _I wince at the cold voice in my head; nobody other than my brother, Luke, would have such a hard tone with me. _You do realize that Tet will have to die eventually, right? It was noble of you to recruit him under the pretense of helping the unlucky, but it's day six and numbers are dwindling fast. You're going to have to cut him off soon._

The thought of my younger ally dying fills me with an immeasurable sadness; it's not even funny how much my heart hurts at the thought. I've gotten attached. I knew that I would end up making bonds with some of the other tributes, but I thought that I was resolved to cut them off at any given opportunity. Now I just don't know anymore.

I can't see myself winning anymore. I can't imagine being the Victor, with Iris and Calla and Tet all dead.

Is that bad?

_Shit, I'm losing it in here. _I place a hand on my forehead, trying to calm my frantic thoughts. It works, I think. I don't really know. I hardly know anything anymore. The more I stay in this arena, the less I feel like I know up from down.

Suddenly, I hear movement. I turn around, just in time to see Tet waking up from his slumber. The moment his squinted eyes rest on me, it's like he automatically wakes up, because his back stiffens and a small smile graces his features.

"Good morning," he says automatically. I shift uncomfortably under his smile; after he assisted in killing Vesper, I can't help but feel like he's cracked. He has this..._proud_ aura about him, like he finally figured out an answer to a long equation.

It's unnerving.

"Good morning to you as well," I say, swallowing my apprehensive thoughts and replacing them with my leader-like demeanor. I can't afford to be weak in front of Tet. He's like an apprentice of mine now, and what kind of example would I be setting if I were to break down? As long as I'm standing confident and strong, even if it's starting to feel like a facade, then he can take from that and grow stronger.

Tet hops out of bed and immediately goes over to his backpack, resting on the other side of the room. He still has that unnerving smile on his face as he searches in each of the compartments, nodding at everything he pulls out. After a few seconds of just staring at him, I decide to go over to my own backpack, which I stole from Vesper after killing him. It didn't have anything edible, unfortunately, but the sponsors cleared that problem up as soon as Caio from Four ran away.

Double-checking the medical supplies and miscellaneous items, I zip the backpack up and drop it back on the ground. When I turn around, however, Tet has his backpack strapped across his back, and he's staring at me almost expectantly.

"Is there an issue?" I question, tilting my head.

Tet's still smiling as he responds. "We've stayed in this house long enough, haven't we? Wouldn't it be smart to hunt down other tributes and take their supplies before we run out?"

_...What?_

"Um…" For the first time since I can remember, I'm absolutely speechless. There is something different about Tet. Something that awakened when we were attacked by the mutts and unleashed when we killed Vesper. "Tet, are you feeling well? You understand that you have no reason to push yourself, right?"

"I'm feeling okay." Tet's smile twitches, before momentarily falling to his usual deadpan stare. "Are _you _okay?"

_Not really. _"Of course."

"Then you should agree with me when I say that eliminating the other competitors would be beneficial to our success." He smiles again — and it's now, right now, that I realize how messed up this arena has made my younger ally. I can't predict his mindframe — I never could, honestly — but I'm genuinely worried by the thoughts flowing through his head right now.

He's right, in a way. Going after the other tributes could lead to great rewards. But what else will he think afterwards? I never pinned Tet as a backstabber, but is it really so unlikely when his impressionable mind has become so warped by the Games?

"...Okay." I don't know what to do. The thought of killing Tet makes my insides churn. The thought of killing anyone today makes me feel so exhausted, honestly. But what else am I supposed to do? If I say no to his request at hunting, he could get the idea to betray me sooner rather than later. But if I were to say yes, it'd be fueling his idealogy that this...is right.

This isn't right. The Hunger Games are most definitely not right. I've been playing the game as best as I can, but I can assure _anyone _that this is not okay. Not at all.

Before I can respond, however, Tet opens his mouth yet again. "Think of Calla."

Everything seems to freeze at the mention of her name. I widen my eyes, staring at my younger ally like he's nothing but a stranger. I feel my blood slowly but surely begin to boil — but I push it down. I thought that… I thought that I was finally at peace. After avenging Iris, I thought that I could get through these Games without anymore vendettas.

But I can't. Not exactly. I _still _don't know who killed Calla, and that eats away at my insides every single day. I miss her so much. I want to… I don't _know _what I want to do. Calla's killer could already be dead and I'd never even know.

_Unless you win. Then you'd know._

_But it'd already be too late._

"We already eliminated Vesper Quinn from the competition, but we have absolutely no idea who killed Calla. Don't you _want _to know, Daniel? Don't you _want _to get revenge on your district partner?" Tet takes a few steps towards me, and I see the glint of a knife resting in his small hands. I tense. "I stabbed Vesper; I got revenge on my district partner, and you simply helped me. But you technically still have revenge to dish out. How can you just sit in this house while Calla's killer could be out there, murdering someone _else_?"

I don't know how to respond. This is _not _my ally. Tet would never have said so much, just in the feeble attempt to get me worked up. Thankfully, I still have my wits, so I'm not going to recklessly burst out the house like an idiot; but there's something sitting near my heart, something aching, something that wants nothing more than to tear apart anyone who could be associated with Calla's murder.

"Have you even thought about who it could be?" Tet continues, his voice blank but his eyes sparkling in intensity. "The main killers were obviously the Pack. None of the other tributes strike me as cold-blooded murderers, especially not in a situation like that. Do you remember the bloodbath, Daniel? Do you remember seeing Calla at all?"

"No, I don't." As soon as the words come out of my mouth, though, a sparkling image flashes in the pit of my brain. The barn, with tributes rushing to the center, and Tet jogging along the edge, and Iris nearing a backpack, and Calla…

Calla inside of the Cornucopia, shuffling through the weapons.

My expression must tell everything, because Tet nods.

"Yes, she was in the Cornucopia. And the only people who would kill her would be the Pack." The thirteen-year-old boy suddenly sighs, looking away from me and to the floor. "This is just speculation, though. There's no way to know for sure. Well…"

I know that I shouldn't be falling for this, but I can't help but lean in, slightly engrossed at my ally's intelligent monologue. It may just be speculation, but it does make sense.

"Echo Woods was fighting Kaya Vause, while Kostos Sylett was fighting you. Adeline Callard looks like she wouldn't hurt a fly. So…" He looks back up at me, eyes dark and light at the same time. "The only person left who could have done it would be Terrance Vallier."

Just as he says those words, the door to our room abruptly swings open. I jump, astonished beyond belief, and turn just in time to see Terrance Vallier from District Nine rushing straight at me, a claymore held tightly in his hands.

_The only person left who could have done it…_

Time seems to freeze. His dark green eyes stare straight into mine, and I detect not a trace of hesitance nor sympathy. All I see are the eyes of a boy who's committed murder; a boy who killed my district partner, my _friend_, and would do it again without a second to spare.

_...would be Terrance Vallier._

* * *

**Tet Kender, 13;**

**District Three Male**.

Before that fight with Vesper Quinn, I never understood a thing. I never understood why my parents had seemingly abandoned me to live in a run-down orphanage home. I never understood why the other kids my age, and even the ones older than me, would never even look at me without wrinkling their noses. I never understood why I was so much different than everyone else around me.

I never understood why the Capitol repressed the districts so callously. I never understood the Hunger Games, and I never understood how people could actually find satisfaction out of kids killing each other. Wasn't that supposed to be sickening? Wasn't that supposed to be taboo?

I never understood why I, out of over one-hundred-thousand children, was reaped for the Fifth Hunger Games. Why was I so special? Was it my fate to go through this ordeal and win? Or was I simply destined to die as entertainment for everyone else?

I never understood a single thing.

And then I stabbed Vesper in his torso, and everything just clicked.

It all adds up; the alienation from my own people, the strong-controlling-the-weak mentality of Panem, and then the pivotal moment of my reaping. I was _different_. I _am _different. Nobody can truly understand me because I'm destined for partaking in the Hunger Games, going through bloody trial after trial, and then coming out on top with a better understanding of the world we live in.

This world thrives on pain and runs with the blood of children. The Hunger Games isn't about stopping the rebels or anything like that. It's about enjoyment, pure and simple. And if I'm going to win, I'm going to need to enjoy every last bit of this; I'm going to need to not wince in the face of danger anymore.

That's why I didn't think twice in stabbing Vesper. That's why I didn't think twice in persuading Daniel, my older brother-figure, to leave the house by using Calla's death as the thesis.

And that's why I don't think twice in charging at Terrance as soon as he bursts through the door.

I wasn't expecting him at all, honestly — but this is perfect. In blaming him for Calla's death, Daniel will methodically chop him down, just like he did with Vesper. And me? I'll still be alive without a single drop of blood staining my hands.

I'll hide behind Daniel as he kills for me. And when we get to the finale? Well… I don't really want to think about that right now. Right now, all I need on my mind is eliminating Terrance Vallier from the competition.

Killing isn't wrong, after all. Daniel unknowingly taught me that — and I look up to him more than anyone else in this world.

Terrance sees me coming for him and abruptly stops running, slashing at my head with his weapon. I quickly duck, just in time, before leaping for his legs. He groans angrily, trying to kick me away — but before he can do such a thing, I raise my knife and stab him straight in his left leg.

"Stupid brat!" He growls, violently grabbing me by my hair and tossing me across the room. I blink, confused, staring at the bleeding cut right under his knee. I didn't actually stab him; he must have jerked and made me only slash him.

That's when my head hits the wall, and a surge of dizziness overcomes me. I cry out in pain, clutching the aching bump in the back of my head, squeezing my eyes shut. That hurt a lot more than I expected. Was I getting ahead of myself in thinking that I could manipulate everything in my control?

I almost forgot; humans are incomprehensibly complex. It's impossible to determine the rash things that they'll do.

Slowly opening my eyes, I watch in slight interest as Daniel relentlessly strikes at Terrance with his sword. My ally has a deadly, almost psychotic look in his eyes, and every swing of his sword is charged with the tantalizing possibility of revenge. My words have been successfully rooted in Daniel's brain. He truly believes that Terrance Vallier is responsible for Calla's death, when it could have honestly been anyone else. And now that he thinks the boy from Nine is the cause of all of his pain, he'll kill him without a spare thought.

If I knew that people could be manipulated so easily, I would have used my words more a long time ago.

I expect for either of them to say something, but neither of them do. Daniel is too focused on the task of chopping Terrance to pieces, while the boy from Nine is too focused on _not _being chopped to pieces. He successfully manages to block every single strike from my ally, their swords slamming against the other and cutting through the silence.

Even though I'm doing nothing but watch, I have to admit that the amount of energy leaving their bodies is echiliariing. Two teens, fighting for their lives, knowing that one or the other won't make it to the next day. This is what Panem is all about; this is what that old Gamemaker was trying to tell me.

The only way to make it out is to play the game.

And people _will _play the game.

Terrance suddenly sucks his teeth, Daniel's sword suddenly cutting him across the bicep. I can see the blood on my ally's sword, and I can see the slash marring Terrance's arm. The boy from Nine is slowing down, ever so slightly — and if this keeps up, Daniel will end up victorious in a matter of moments. Earlier, I might have been a bit worried that Daniel was losing his edge — but the fire burning underneath his eyes is as plain as day.

He's going to win.

A small smile creeps across my face. _Of course my role model is going to win._

"You're an idiot," Terrance suddenly says, his voice strained. The more that he dodges and strikes, the more that he's losing. "I heard—" He ducks, narrowly avoiding Daniel's blade from decapitating him. "I heard everything. If you really think that I killed your ally, then go ahead and believe a little kid. But you and I both know what's going on."

Daniel doesn't stop his assault for a second. "Shut up!" If Terrance thought that his words were going to save him, then he was surely mistaken. If anything, that just made Daniel a lot more aggressive in his plot to kill him.

Before long, Terrance can't evade anymore, and his sword flies out of his hand. The boy from Nine falls on his butt, looking up at my ally in pure hate. These are his last moments alive, and he knows it.

Daniel's eyes are stone cold — and looking at him from this angle, watching as he raises his sword up for the final kill, I know for certain that nothing will be able to stop us. Not the boy from Two, not the girl from Eight, and definitely not this idiot from Nine.

_Checkmate. _I smile.

Until Terrance opens his mouth again, and my smile is wiped clean off my face.

"You're just using me as an excuse to hide the fact that _you _killed Calla!"

Daniel's eyes widen, surprise rushing all throughout his face. He hesitates — and that's all the time Terrance needs to grab his claymore off the ground and slice straight through Daniel's left leg.

_...What? _I blink, something heavy pressing against my chest, so heavy that I can't seem to breathe at all. Daniel screams, trying to stab at Terrance one last time, but he can't balance on just his right leg and ends up missing terribly. He falls on the dusty wooden floor, screaming bloody murder, a horrifying pool of blood oozing out of his leg. Terrance quickly rolls off of the ground, panting, staring at my ally with furrowed brows.

And then his gaze shifts towards me, and I feel like my entire life has once again been nothing but a lie. A cold, unforgiving lie.

"_Argh_..!" Daniel groans, a small whimper coming out of his mouth. I look back towards him, wincing at the sight of my powerful ally being reduced to nothing. Even if he were to survive the amount of blood coming out of his wound, there's no way he'd be able to win the Hunger Games with just one leg.

He's finished.

_But that doesn't mean I am._

"_Run_," Daniel whispers, looking up at me. His dark eyes are watery, his expression tortured. I feel something clogging my throat, an intense sadness overcoming my entire body. My role model — _dying_. My entire world — _dying_.

Everything is _dying_.

Everything except me.

Terrance moves towards me, but I quickly run to the door, tears blurring my vision. The stinging, watery substance is almost foreign; I can't remember the last time I've actually cried. And right now, I don't have the time to remember, because the boy from Nine just eliminated my ally and he's coming for me next.

"_LEAVE HIM ALONE!_" Daniel screams from behind us, before another pain-filled groan leaves his lips. Terrance suddenly stops, turning around, but I continue running for my life. I go through the door, turn the corner, and then run straight out the house. There's nothing on my mind other than survival, other than getting away, other than trying to make sense of this unpredictable world I live in.

The moment I make it outside, a huge gust of wind blows against me, forcing me to squint my eyes from the intensity. I don't know what's going on with the weather today, nor do I particularly care, but all I want is to get as far away as possible from the site of another death.

**BOOM!**

I wince at the sound of a cannon, knowing that my ally has finally reached his end. His usefulness is gone. But not only that, the one person I could look up to...is dead.

_He's dead._

I don't know how long I run, but I run and run and _run _until my heart begins to painfully slam against my chest. I slow down to a slight jog, but I don't stop completely; I _won't _stop. The pain of losing Daniel is so _thick_, so malleable that I can almost touch it. Every time I blink, I can see nothing but the last look he gave me, his face scrunched in pain and his body weakened to nothing, yet his eyes looking as powerful as ever.

_Is this my fault? Or would this have happened regardless? And what do I do now? What can I do without him?_

Once again, in my most vulnerable moment, I find myself asking questions and gaining not a single answer. I guess I haven't really changed at all. I'm still that wiry, scared kid who didn't understand a single thing. And even when I thought that I understood, I really didn't.

I'll never understand.

I fall to the ground, letting the grass coat me and letting the cool wind blow against me. Tears stream down my face — and I can't do anything except sob and scream into the air, wishing that I had another chance, or wishing that someone would just _explain_.

And then, that's when I hear it. A soft ding, hauntingly soft but loud enough that I can clearly hear it. I look up, wiping my face, staring at the small box floating down from the parachute. I don't do anything; I simply watch as the parachute falls right in front of me, revealing the contents within the small glass box.

A hammer and a scalpel, tied together with a rather long piece of rope.

They don't even have to send a note to convey their idea; even though I've just lost the closest person to me, the Capitol doesn't care. All that they care about is their entertainment. Giving me a moment to grieve just isn't important to them.

_And if it's not important to them, why should it be important to me? _I feel my chest constricting, but I swallow down my sob and reach for the box in front of me. Maybe this is what was supposed to happen after all. Maybe… Maybe all three of my allies were supposed to die.

Unlike Daniel, maybe I needed a role model that was invincible. Maybe I needed a role model that would never submit to anyone and anything.

Maybe… Maybe I need the Capitol.

* * *

**Eion Daltier, 18;**

**District Twelve Male.**

I don't know what to do.

I haven't been able to leave the Cornucopia. Every time I so much as look outside, a paralyzing fear strikes the center of my brain, forcing me to take refuge deep inside of the barn. Without Isabel and Ricky, there's no way that I can simply go out and take on the arena. I can't do _anything _all by myself.

I never realized it before, but everything is a lot scarier when you're alone. With my two allies on my side, the world seemed bleak, but it was manageable. I could go through another day, fighting hunger, as long as I had Ricky to joke with and Isabel to comfort. I could even lie to myself, saying that everything was going to be alright, when everyone knew that nothing was ever going to be alright again.

But without them, what can I do? I can't… I just don't...

Honesty is the best policy with me — and honestly, I'm scared of being alone. That's just the plain truth.

But at the same time, every minute sitting in this barn is driving me insane. My body is screaming at me to walk around, to be active, to do _something_. And not only that, but the stench of death is slowly starting to overwhelm me. I don't know how many people have died in this dusty barn, but I can _feel _the heavy spiritual energy suffocating everything. I'm not a very religious person, honestly, but there's something unnerving about this place — and I hate it.

"Fuck..." I groan, slapping myself in the face, trying to stop my brain from wandering so much. "Just calm down, Eion. You're okay. You're alive and everything is going to be alright."

_When did I become such a liar?_

I bite my lip, feeling another onslaught of emotions attack my brain. My eyes skim over to Ricky's deteriorating body, still lying on the cold wooden floor. It's honestly haunting to look at him, knowing that he'll never get up again, knowing that he was just _murdered _without a second to even react. Seeing him like that fills me with so much sadness that I can't even process the right words to describe it…

But at the same time, deep inside, there's an anger that's growing stronger with each second of sitting here. An anger that threatens to swallow me whole, turning me into someone that I'm not; this fire inside of me wants to do nothing more than _slaughter _Kostos Sylett, the District Two murderer who killed Ricky in cold blood.

Tears spring to my eyes, my chest constricting at how _frustrating _this all is. I want to go out there and murder Kostos; I want to hide here and sleep my days away. I want to stab and cut and _tear _Kostos apart; I want to cry into my hands and never stop. My mind is so conflicted on what to do, and it's honestly the worst feeling in the world.

"Stop it…" I jump up from the floor, punching the golden Cornucopia with all my might. Instantly, the searing pain of my knuckles slamming against the metal forces me to cry out in pain — but that's good, because I _need _pain if I'm going to fight agaisnt my mind. I'll do anything if it stops me from thinking about literally _everything_.

Trying to endure the pain of my hand, my legs seem to gain a mind of their own as they walk me over towards the broken window at the back of the barn — the same broken window that Isabel hopped out of to escape the duo from One and Two.

Bristling, I bite my tongue to keep from saying something I'd regret. Every time I think of my district partner and the way she just abandoned me to save herself… I don't know. I just don't know. Another set of conflictions battle inside my mind; one part wanting to cry and the other wanting to..._hurt_ her.

"Shut up!" I hit myself in the head again, trying to stop my thoughts with everything in me, trying to stop the flame from growing. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I smack myself a few more times — but no, every slap makes me think of the pain I want to inflict upon Kostos.

I want to hurt him.

No amount of lying to myself can stop that fact from surfacing; I want to avenge Ricky.

I want to _kill _Kostos.

There's nothing more to think about; there's nothing else I want to _think _about. That homicidal brute from Two killed my friend, and I _have _to avenge him. I wouldn't be Eion Daltier if I didn't get revenge for my loved ones. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I let that guy get away with ruining the small life I managed to make with Ricky and Isabel in the Capitol. If I don't… If I don't throw aside my morals and kill Kostos Sylett…

I storm over to the Cornucopia, the fire in my chest growing stronger and stronger with each second. It's people like _him_, people like Kostos who volunteer to hurt others, that ruin this nation. And I'm going to stop it all right here. I'm going to prove to this entire country that even the boy from Twelve can dish out some vengeance when pushed far enough.

Grabbing the spear out of the Cornucopia, I walk over to Ricky's rotting corpse, the arrow still plunged deep inside of his head. His skin is turning a dark shade of blue, and I absently wonder why the Capitol hasn't sent for his body to be picked up yet. Are they waiting for me to leave? Or are they expecting me to drag him outside? I snort at that thought; no way in hell I would ever do something like that.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, looking away from his body. I close my eyes, momentarily letting the anger wear off, replacing my thoughts with ones of happiness. I remember the first time I met Ricky; I had impulsively added him to the alliance without any thought on how he'd feel. Looking back on it now, it's kinda funny in a sad way.

I still remember the way he smiled after agreeing to join us…

Instead of sadness filling my veins, it's the immeasurable anger that decides to stick it's head out at me. _I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you, Ricky, _I think, grinding my teeth together. _But I will avenge you. I won't let that monster get away with this. _

I grip the weapon in my hand, allowing one last second of mourning, before I turn away from the corpse and head towards the door. I push it open, feeling that same feeling of fear overcome me — but unlike the other times, I fight through the fear, inhaling a breath of fresh air and stepping out into the windy arena before me.

For a moment, confusion crosses my face as I stare out at the vast expanse of grass. Shouldn't it be...storming right now? Usually it'd be thundering, considering yesterday was a normal day. Is that old Gamemaker planning something?

_Whatever. _Wind or rain, nothing is going to stop me from achieving my goal of taking Kostos down. The clouds in the sky are a bit gray, and the wind is a bit more erratic than usual — but other than that, nothing else is out of the ordinary. No crazy muttations running around. Nothing at all to distract me from my goal.

Taking one last breath of air, I ignore the anxiety in my stomach and focus on the anger. I start walking away from the barn and into the rolling fields of grass.

The next time that I come back to the Cornucopia, Kostos Sylett will be dead.

* * *

**Daniel Church, 10th: Corner-kun, you've been with me since… I don't even know how long. You know how unreliable I am when it comes to stories. And yet, you always support me on everything I do. It means a lot. Even though we don't talk on a regular basis, you're still one of my best friends on this site — but alas, Daniel was simply destined to go down in this fight. When I first got this guy, I honestly didn't know what I was going to do with someone like Daniel. But with your constant suggestions, plans continued to form and form in my head — some plans that I'm still going to be using, even now — and this guy had grown his own little character arc. I admit that he might have been a bit difficult to write at times, and I sometimes still feel like I didn't fully flesh out Daniel's character as much as I could have... But nonetheless, I'm proud of the route this guy went through! The fact that he still had Tet's safety in mind, even after all that happened… It truly shows the kind of guy that Daniel was. :') May he rest in peace, and let's hope that Luke doesn't go crazy… (I will write a little something about the families after I finish the Games, by the way!)**

* * *

**Author's Notes: HEY GUYS! I'M BACK! I was gone for a long time, I know, but I'm truly sorry for that. I think I needed a bit of a break to get back in the groove. Christmas vacation is on the horizon, and I do plan on writing more and more! :) I still plan on finishing this story, guys! Don't worry!**

**BY THE WAY, I'M UPDATING THIS ON DECEMBER 15TH. EXACTLY ONE YEAR AGO IS WHEN I STARTED THIS SYOT. CRAZY RIGHT? I know I go write extremely slow, and I've lost most of my readers, BUT HEY, we're on the final 9 and things are going to get a bit more hectic…**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**For some reason, it's not storming. You know by the arena's pattern that today should've been raining cats and dogs — but for some reason, the Gamemaker seems to be planning something different. With the gray clouds in the sky and the wind blowing harder than ever, do you think you can predict what's going to happen next?**_

* * *

**Honestly, I don't expect many reviews for this chapter. And that's sorta my fault, considering how long it took for me to update this. BUT however, I do thank the small amount of people who take the time to read and review my chapters, even with my terrible schedule! You're loved!**

**Okay BAI!**


	29. Night Six

**Night Six.**

* * *

**A Cannon in the Wind;**

_The Fifth Hunger Games._

* * *

**Isabel Abriani, 18;**

**District Twelve Female.**

As the sun falls and the moon takes it's place in the sky, a feeling of dread overcomes me. I can tell that tonight is not going to be a good one — not at all. The wind is blowing harder than I've ever felt before, creating a haunting whistle as it passes through the house. And not only that, but the pitter-patter of rain hitting the window assures that the storm tonight will be brutal.

I have no idea why it didn't rain this afternoon, but I guess that old Gamemaker was simply preparing us for what's about to happen now. The calm before the storm, as they all say.

I just hope there aren't any crazy muttations running around…

_Stop it, Isabel, _I tell myself, shaking my head to clear my thoughts away. _Please stop thinking negatively. It's only going to get you nowhere._

But is that really true? I had my doubts about going to the Cornucopia, and yet I let Eion and Ricky persuade me to ignore them — and now Ricky is dead and I'm _alone_. My pessimistic thoughts were right last time, so there's absolutely no reason at all to ignore them this time.

Thinking of my two allies makes me cringe, however. Not only did my stupid plan lead Ricky to his death, but I left Eion alone in there to be _tortured _by those monsters. What kind of person am I? Weak-willed or not, it takes a special kind of monster to leave their friends all by themselves when facing imminent death. Maybe that's why I didn't have friends back in Twelve; they could all tell how useless I am when push comes to shove.

I groan, trying to stop my heart from hurting so much. The guilt is absolutely overwhelming. _I'm just so useless, useless, useless, useless, useless—_

That's when I hear the sound of a door creaking open, cutting through the sound of my self-loathing thoughts. My head shoots up, my eyes staring at the closed door in front of me, and my heart beating exponentially fast. _Who is it?_ I wonder frantically, my mind telling me to run and hide but my body being too scared to do so. _Who is it?!_

Whoever it is, they're going to kill me. I know that much. With only half of the competitors left, there won't be anymore merciful people left. Any encounter with another tribute will only lead in pain, blood, _death_.

_I don't want to die. _

It's true. When the girl from One and the boy from Two stepped into the barn, the only feeling in the pit of my stomach was absolute fear. The thought of dying and letting the world watch as my world turns from blue to gray makes me absolutely ill. I just… I just _can't _die. I really, truly don't want to die in this psychotic arena.

Seconds pass, and I just about gain the will to move my body, when suddenly the door to my room opens up and the girl from District One stands in the archway.

And just like that, the overwhelming fear comes back, and I can do nothing but stare and count down the seconds until my demise.

She doesn't say a word, and neither do I. I _can't _talk. If anything ends up coming out of my mouth, it's undoubtedly going to be a sob. The longer I stare at her, though, the more that I can see how affected she is about all of this. Her pretty blonde hair is a mess on her head, and her eyes are red and puffy with tears. I was painfully jealous of this girl back in the Capitol, but all I can see now is a broken teenager who's been through more than I can believe.

My mind doesn't even wander to her murderous ally from Two; I simply stare at her as she stares at me, the wind and rain outside getting worse with every second that passes.

And then, she opens her mouth to speak. "I…" She gulps, taking a step back. Her voice is painfully hoarse, probably even more than mine. "I just— I'm sorry. I'm so...so sorry for…"

Before I know it, tears are starting to well up in my eyes. I bite my lip, shaking my head, refusing to cry in front of the entire nation. But honestly, what does it matter at this point? The Capitol has seen me cry during the Reapings. The Capitol has seen me throw up and faint during the Interviews. The Capitol has seen me abandon my two allies during our darkest hour. If anything, I'm the most pathetic person in this entire arena — and everyone knows it.

So for once, I let it all out. Tears stream down my face like a waterfall as I cry and sob and _scream _how sorry _I _am, how I just didn't want to die, how I'm so useless and so pitiful that my so-called ingenious plans do nothing but get my alliance murdered. Before long, the girl from One starts to sob with me — and for who-knows-how long, we're just two teenage girls crying and confessing our sins to one another.

"I-I'll l-l-leave…" The girl from One stutters out, still wiping her face free of tears.

I shake my head, feeling something hard and violent tugging against my heart. "No. N-No, you can st-stay…"

And maybe that's why what happens next is so unpredictable. But honestly, why should anything be unpredictable at this point? The Capitol doesn't want anyone to gain new allies at this point, especially an alliance fueled on apologies and self-loathing. They want blood. They want violence.

And if we can't give that to them, they'll end up forcing it themselves.

The entire building starts to shake, gentle at first but then rising in magnitude. Both the girl from One and I widen our eyes at each other, knowing that whatever happens next will be nothing but _bad_. I jump to my feet, holding onto the side of the bed to keep steady, while she tries to hold onto the creaky door. The shaking gets harder and harder, the wind blows harder and harder, the rain pours harder and _harder _and I just want to _scream _and—

And then everything stops.

The girl from One is crying again, but I simply let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My heart is beating so fast that I swear it's trying to escape my chest, and my throat is so dry that I almost feel like I'm suffocating.

But nothing happened. I'm _alive_.

And then the shaking comes back, harder and more chaotic than ever before. I scream, losing my grip of the bed and flying all the way across the room, hitting the wall adjacent to bed and letting out a pain-filled cry as my head connects with the wall. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to curl into a ball and go to my happy place, but the screams from the girl from One forces me on this ethereal plane of torture. I momentarily open my eyes — and I instantly regret it, because what I see happening almost makes me throw up once again.

The girl from One is holding onto the door with all her might, the lower half of her body being pulled into the air. I look up, and then a loud _crunch _reverberates throughout the chaos, revealing that the top half of the building has been torn off. Outside, twirling magnificently, is a humongous _tornado. _I honestly can't believe my eyes. A _tornado_.

Before I know it, the door breaks loose of it's hinges, and the girl from One is sent flying straight into the air. She screams, I scream — and suddenly, I'm being violently pulled into the air as well. I try to hold on to something, _anything_, but the only thing my fingers can touch is the stabbing wind as my body is flung across the air like a ragdoll. With my heart in my throat and my eyes squeezed shut, I can do nothing but scream and scream and _scream _as my body flies in many different directions.

"STOP!" I hear the girl from One scream, her hoarse voice cutting through the wind. "_STOP_ IT! _PLEASE_! PLEASE STOP _DOING _THIS!"

I open my mouth to scream something, but whatever I have to say is cut short by the wind painfully slamming me against something prickly and hard. I feel my entire body lose its energy as my arms are stabbed into by wooden splinters, and then I'm thrown right back in the air, my skin being slashed to pieces. I scream again, but this time it's fueled by the fear of death, grabbing me with his cold fingers.

_I'm going to die, _I think, opening my eyes to stare at the blue night sky. _I'm seriously going to die._

Suddenly, without any warning, my body is thrown onto the grassy ground. I scream, my arm burning in pain and my shoulder bleeding in pure agony. My entire body is telling me to just lay there and wait for death, but my mind doesn't want that to happen. Not yet. I can't die yet; I can't die yet; I can't die yet!

Using all the energy I have, I begin to crawl away from the raging tornado. Tears are streaming down my face, and my hair is making sight very hard, but I disregard everything and continue pulling my body farther and farther away from the chaos in the shape of a hurricane. I want nothing more to curl into a ball and give up — but I can't, I just _can't_. I've been through so much in this arena, and I just can't give it all up now. If I have just the slimmest chance of survival, I'm going to take it with all I've got.

_Now look at you, _I can hear my brother saying, all the way back in Twelve. _Gravelling on the ground like some kind of peasant. I expected this much from you, but I didn't really expect to actually see it myself. _I can hear the Capitol citizens, laughing at me with each pull of my body, with each pain-filled groan.

But for the very first time in my life, I don't care. I just don't care anymore. They can point fingers at me, laugh at me, do whatever they want. But at the end of the day, I'm the only one that's going to be fighting for my survival.

At the end of the day, _I'm _the only one that matters.

* * *

**Caio Artelle, 17;**

**District Four Male.**

Last night, when I saw that my district partner had somehow died, I knew that everything I was back home was gone. I knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do to repent for my sins in this arena. I knew that the only other option for me was death — or to live with a guilt too heavy to hold.

I'm _tired_. Words simply cannot explain how exhausted I am. Physically, I can't remember the last time I've eaten anything other than small berries. Socially, I can't remember the last time I had a good laugh with someone. Emotionally, I can't remember the last time I didn't hate myself.

Because I hate myself. I really, truly despise the type of person I am. My indecisiveness does nothing but cause annoying, heartache, and pain for the people around me. My cowardness does nothing but show how I'm no different than my father, and how I'll only end up causing the people around me to suffer if I continue down the road I'm going.

It's too late to change roads now, though. I've messed up far too much in this arena.

I could've possibly saved Vesper, but instead I just stood there and watched the last moments of his life go by in a flash. He screamed for me, begged for me to come save him — and yet, because of my conflicted personality and my cowardly ways, I betrayed the small amount of trust he had in me. And not only Vesper, but who knows what happened to Ula? If I were there, I could've possibly saved her. Maybe _I _could've died in her place.

_Stop lying to yourself. _I wince at the cold voice of my father, reverberating throughout my brain. _You're nothing but a coward, son. No matter how much you hate yourself now, you still can't bring yourself to end it all, simply because you're too scared._

"SHUT UP!" I scream, punching the water in front of me. Even with the wind and rain whipping everywhere, I still can't bring myself to go inside the dilapidated house behind me. The last time I did that, I met Vesper — and everything after that is too painful to think about. So instead of sitting in the dry, potentially dangerous house, I'm instead sitting outside this lake, reflecting on literally everything.

After I ran away from Daniel and Tet, I stumbled around the arena for a few days, running away from muttations whenever they popped up. That old Gamemaker didn't seem too keen on messing with me for some reason, and I always hid whenever I saw someone from a distance, so I've been relatively safe for the past few days. It might not be the most exciting time to some people, but why would I want to have an _exciting _time in a place that kills kids for a living? Sitting here and staring at the lake as people die around me is the most excitement I need.

Honestly, the only reason I probably feel so attached to this place is because the lake reminds me of the ones back in District Four. When life got too overwhelming back home, I would always just sit at the bank and think things through. My twin sister Sansa and I would stare at the lake sometimes, talking about our family situation and how much it hurts not to have a father anymore. I'd even sit and stare with Bianca and Bliss, blushing whenever the former caught me staring at her.

I want to go back to those times so much. They were just so...simple. Compared to this, though, everything in the world could be considered simple. These wretched Hunger Games are possibly the worst thing in existence.

Feeling my emotions drift back to it's regular melancholy, I sigh, covering my face with my hands. "I want to go home," I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the tears. "I just want to go home… I hate it here… I hate it here so much…"

I hate being in this arena; I hate being too pathetic to save anyone; I hate being too screwed-up to make a simple decision; I hate being _me_. What in the world is wrong with me?! Why am I so...so…

"Ugh!" I hit the water again, this time imagining it to be me. My reflection ripples — and I stare at myself, wishing that I could be someone else, someone who's not so mentally ill.

But I'll always be a stupid, indecisive coward. There's nothing else that can change that…

"Caio."

I jump at the sound of that voice — that eerily familiar voice. _Is that..? _I slowly turn around, immediately locking eyes with none other than my ex-ally, Kaya Vause of District Eight. For a second, neither of us say anything; I stare at the sword in her hand and move my gaze all the way up to her blue eyes, her entire body drenched in bloodstains.

"Wh-What happened to you?" I question, jumping to my feet. For some reason, Kaya's blank gaze unnerves me, and the blood on her body does nothing to ease my mind. With the rain drenching her red hair to her face, and the blue spark in her eyes gone, my ex-ally looks absolutely feral.

_What happened? Did she get in a fight? Does it have anything to do with Ula's death? _The last thought makes me shiver, so much that I have to grip my arm to keep steady. Kaya would have never hurt Ula. But if I believed in Kaya's morality that much, why would I have left?

"Zander really did turn out to be crazy," she says, her voice quiet but still hearable. I wince at how dead she sounds, like the girl in front of me is nothing like how she used to be. "It all happened so fast… Ula fell to the first floor, started screaming, starting _dying…_"

I take a step back, biting my lip to keep from saying anything. The emotions rushing through my body are unbearably heavy; if I fell to the ground right now, I don't think I'd be able to get back up. The way she's describing the death of my district partner, as if it was the most horrible thing she's ever seen…

"He had done exactly what the Capitol wanted him to do," she continues, still staring at me with those dead eyes. "And I… I just couldn't take it anymore… I couldn't just let them get away with it…"

"Kaya," I speak out, trying to keep my tone calm and controlled. She tilts her head, widening her eyes for me to continue. "I'm sorry… That must have been terrible. I… I wish that I was there—"

"You _weren't _there." For a second, I still see the old Kaya, hidden underneath the one standing before me. Her blue eyes gloss over with tears, and the sword in her hand trembles. But just like that, Kaya Vause leaves the station, once again staring at me with those dead eyes. Her chest rises and falls, her breaths coming out hard and unsteady, like she's desperately trying to control herself.

I take a few more steps back, stopping when I realize that my feet are on the edge of the ground, leaning precariously over the lake. If I were to move back anymore, I will fall straight in. But with Kaya looking at me like that, the route she wants me to go is probably even worse.

My brain tells me to reach inside my back pocket and take out a knife, but at the same time, the images of me fighting my ex-ally make me shiver. I could never win a fight against her, especially with that deadly sword in her hands. But if I don't take out something now, no-doubt she'll kill me before I even have time to blink. Then again, what if she's not trying to hurt me? What if she just needs for me to comfort her? If I were to take out my weapon, that'd immediately set her off.

_This is bad. This is very, very bad. THINK, Caio. Think!_

"I'm sorry…" I gulp, raising my hands up in defeat. My brain is screaming at me to run, but my body desperately wants things to be settled without conflict. "Th-The animals… They scared me, okay? And I just… I just felt so paranoid, like you two were planning on killing me, and I just didn't know what to do!"

"You left us to die." Kaya takes a threatening step towards me, and I'm far too paralyzed to move away. "The animals did attack us, and they almost killed us, too. But instead of letting us all know how you felt, you decided to run away and save _yourself_. You're just a coward, Caio. You're just a fucking coward!"

I wince; she's so right. She's telling me everything I've been telling myself. And you know what? It hurts. It hurts so much — because she's _right_, and I know she's right, and I just don't know what to do with myself. I left Ula and Kaya to die, and now my district partner is dead. I left Vesper to die, and now he's dead. The only thing I'm capable of doing is leaving behind a trail of pain and tears.

I'm far worse than my father ever was.

Tears springing to my eyes, I shift uncomfortably under her hateful glare. "I'm sorry…"

"_STOP SAYING THAT!_"

Before I even know what's going on, Kaya Vause is charging at me. I jump, almost falling in the lake, but catch myself quick enough to dodge the strike at my head. Kaya screams, swinging her sword at my neck, but I fall to the ground and roll, narrowly evading a slash that would have undoubtedly killed me. She doesn't stop her rampage, though; a slash to my leg, a strike to my torso, a cut right above my eye. Each attack is meant to painfully incapacitate me, but I somehow move quick enough to barely dodge each one.

"Stop running!" She screams, pausing to catch her breath. I turn on my heels and try to rush to the house, but I end up tripping on air and falling flat on my face. With the adrenaline rushing through my brain, I barely feel anything — but the one thing I can feel is the unbelievable fear of death.

I turn around, staring up at my ex-ally as she levels her sword right above my chest. Fear clogs my throat, forcing me to stop breathing, and suddenly I can feel the cold fingers of death caressing my soul. _She's going to kill me; she's going to kill me; she's going to kill me!_

"That's all you ever do, Caio. You run and you run and you _run_. If you had stayed with Ula and I, then maybe she'd still be alive. Maybe I wouldn't feel like my entire life of fighting against the Capitol was all for nothing. Maybe I wouldn't feel like tearing out my hair every time I close my eyes, simply because the only thing I can see is Zander's mutilated body! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

She screams in pure rage, stabbing down to give the finishing blow. But I can't die like this. I can't die loathing everything about myself, wishing that there was just one more thing that I could do to regain my own respect. Dying in the Hunger Games, broken down and buried in sin…

_No! _I roll out of the way — but the sword stabs straight into my arm, eliciting a high-pitched scream from yours truly. Writhing in pain, I scream and scream and _scream_, but that does nothing to stop the cold metal of the sword from rushing throughout my veins, lighting up my soul in pure agony. My vision blurs, black spots overtaking half of it — but then Kaya twists the sword in, eliciting another round of screams and another wave of pain.

"_STOP IT!_" I beg, tears streaming down my face. I stare up into the cold eyes of Kaya Vause; a girl that I once respected for being so strong and so fearless, so eager to stand up for what she believes in. And now she's killing me, _torturing _me.

_I'm dying._

"It hurts, doesn't it..?" Kaya's eyes are full of tears, but she makes no attempt to pull the weapon out of my arm. The sound of my flesh being torn apart makes me want to vomit, and I don't dare turn to look at the mess my arm must be in right now. All I can do is lay on the wet ground, writhing and crying in pain, knowing deep-down that this will be my last moments alive.

"Please…" Suddenly, the feeling in my arm starts to go away, being replaced with a cold and empty feeling of death. I shiver, trying to fight back, trying _desperately _to fight back against the wave of agony — but I can't._ I can't I can't I can't._

"This is your own fault…" Even now, with my world slowly turning to black, I can see the pain on Kaya's face. I can see just how much this hurts her, almost as much as it's hurting me. For a second, I open my mouth to apologize, or to say something — but then she slides the sword out of my arm, and an entirely new feeling of pain rushes throughout my body.

I scream. _This is my own fault._

_I'm dying, and it's my own fault._

The last thing I see is Kaya's blue eyes, widened in surprise and disgust. Her blue eyes were once so pretty, so full of fight and emotion. But they've officially been stained by the Capitol. The Kaya I knew is now gone.

And so am I.

**BOOM!**

* * *

**Ceres Cantrell, 13;**

**District Six Female.**

Today has been a very, very shitty day.

And considering I've spent six days in this arena, that's saying a lot.

For starters, there's been two cannons today, signifying that another two people have met their end in this godforsaken place. I know that's supposed to be a good thing, since it's only bringing me closer and closer to going back home, but there's still something inside me that mourns for the people who have died. The only people I wouldn't mind dying right about now are the remaining three members of the Pack, but it doesn't seem like any of them will be dying anytime soon. Other than them, though, nobody else deserves to croak in this place.

_But neither do I. _That's right. The only reason I'm still alive now is because I haven't lost the will to survive. Michael lost that will, and he ended up losing his life. Even my older, stronger district partner bit the dust before me.

I don't plan on dying in here, but neither do I plan on becoming the Capitol's perfect little Victor. I refuse to lose my humanity in this place; I refuse to play the game exactly how they want.

It's been six days in this place, and I haven't killed a single person. Thirteen-year-old Ceres Cantrell, possibly voted a Bloodbath by those Capitol idiots, has made it this far without harming a single soul. It's a morbid thought to think that I've survived longer than half of the other tributes, but it doesn't stop the swell of pride from blossoming in my chest.

Take _that_, Capitol! Never judge a book by it's cover!

Even though I basically killed myself off in the Capitol, it's nice to know that I'm stronger than I originally thought. Or maybe I'm just lucky. Whatever it is, it's keeping me alive, and I'm grateful.

Anyway, I sorta lost my train of thought. The second reason that today has been shitty is because of the erratic weather. The wind is literally _this _close to knocking me over, and let's not forget about the rain that loves to blind me. If another tribute were to find me out here, I don't even think I'd be able to run away without tripping and breaking my neck or something.

I have no idea why the Gamemaker likes to change the weather every day. Honestly, it's annoying knowing that one day you'll have peaceful skies, and then you'll wake up and be pelted to death with rain. If this is supposed to be a creative type of torture, it's working, because I seriously hate it in here.

But I guess that's to be expected, isn't it? It's not like the Capitol brought us here on a silly little vacation. They want us to die, and any amount of extra suffering is simply the icing on the metaphorical death cake.

I really hate them.

Lastly, that old Gamemaker seems keen on killing me today with _muttations_. I literally can't count how many random animals have tried to tear me apart today. Luckily, most of them have been small and easy to fight back against, but there were one or two mutts that would have definitely ate me alive if I didn't have a knife with me.

Right now, I'm simply walking through these empty fields, trying to ignore how drenched and uncomfortable I feel. I would have tried my hand at taking shelter under another building, but something tells me that's not going to end very well for me. I already accidentally stumbled upon the two from Twelve and the boy from Ten; I don't think I'll be able to just leave if I walked in on anyone else.

I try to ignore the fact that the Ten boy is now dead, while the two from Twelve are doing who-knows-what right now. It makes me nauseous to think that someone I made direct eye-contact with just a few days ago could be six feet underground now — and what's worse is the fact that I didn't know a single thing about him. What about when— _if _I die? Will the remaining tributes even bat an eye at my demise? Will they remember a single thing about me?

For some reason, my eyes start to tear up. I don't even know why; for as long as I can remember, I've always been the shy girl who doesn't care at all if other people remember her or not. I've never been the outgoing type, or the one to make a legacy, or _none _of those things. I've just been Ceres Cantrell…

_And that's all you'll ever be._

I shiver at that threatening voice in the back of my head. Right now is definitely not the right time to become all self-loathing and regretful. Even if nobody remembers me when I die… Even if I'll forever be that quiet girl in the back…

Something tugs at my heart — something that forces the tears to leak out of my eyes. I quickly try to hide my face with my hands, but the sobs force their way out of my mouth. This pain, this emotional pain, is far worse than anything I've ever felt before. I thought that the Hunger Games were just full of bloodthirsty children with mental problems, but I never imagined how horrible the other tributes must feel inside, knowing that they'll never be able to see their friends and family ever again.

_Stop it, Ceres! Stop giving those Capitol bastards exactly what they want! You're stronger than this! You are! Even if you don't realize it yourself, you're far stronger than anyone could ever be!_

I _am_. I can't submit to my stupid emotions in this stupid place. I need to survive. I need to survive so that I can yell at my mom again and bring my dad his lunch again. I need to survive so that I can roll my eyes at Mary and even fight against my confusing feelings for Tyson.

I need to survive; I'm going to survive.

I wipe my eyes free of tears, continuing my walk through this depressing farm. With my heart once again in the right place, I clench my fists, letting the determination burn throughout my body. Nothing is going to stop me from getting out of this evil place. I refuse to get my hands dirty, but...but I'll find a way. I'll find a way to win without killing anyone.

With that mindset, I continue walking, a small smile growing on my face — until I hear the soft, almost inaudible sound of crying. _What? _I pause, taking in my surroundings, looking all around myself to see who could be making that noise. And then, that's when I see them; a person hunched-over, laying on the wet ground and sobbing their heart out.

I can feel my own heart beating in my chest, faster and faster with each second. We're in an open field right now, meaning that person could easily see me and I'd have nowhere at all to hide. But who _is _it? If it's the boy from Two or the boy from Nine, I'm totally screwed right now. But then again, the person looks rather small — or at least smaller than the main competitors.

Something tells me to take out my knife and attack — but I quickly diminish that thought. Whoever it is, they look completely harmless. Crying on the ground tends to do that to a person. And I would never stab a person in the back while they're crying; I'm not that far gone.

So instead, I do something that I would have never done a few days ago. It's stupid, crazy, and almost suicidal, but I've been through far too much to listen to that nagging voice in my head.

_And I'm lonely._

_I miss Michael._

I open my mouth. "Um… Hey there? Person? Are— Are you okay?"

The person immediately stops crying, but their shoulders are still moving up and down. My mind and my body are battling for control; one side says to run away and leave this person, but the other side says to go up and comfort them. And while comforting someone is definitely not something I'm good at doing, I can't just leave them here. Not now.

"I'm… I'm Ceres," I say, walking a bit closer to them. "District Six. How about you..?"

The person doesn't answer. The only sound between us is the pattering rain, which makes the silence a tiny bit bearable. Seconds pass, and I'm about to open my mouth again, but the person finally responds in a shaky voice.

"T-Tet. District Three…"

_Tet_. I didn't say a word to him in the Capitol, or even look at him, but I do remember the boy. His impressive training score of _5 _reverberates in my brain, alarm bells ringing between my ears, but I try hard to fight back against the prickle of paranoia. He's the same age as me and crying on the ground; it'd be incredibly cold-hearted of me to leave him just because of a Capitol's score.

"Oh." I rack my brain for something to say, unconsciously stepping closer and closer towards him. "So… So you're alone? What happened to your allies?"

"They're all dead." For a second, his voice hardens, and I wince at the blunt way he said that. But then, I can hear him crying again, if only slightly. "I miss them… I don't know what to do without them…"

I bite my lip, my heart tearing in half for this poor boy. My ally is dead, too; I know exactly how he feels right now. Alone, broken, lost, _guilty_. Just days ago, I was on the ground, crying my heart out for Michael. It all felt like a bad dream. This entire experience feels like a bad dream.

But bad dreams eventually go away. The Hunger Games is a torture the lasts forever.

My brain is screaming at me not to, but I can't help but step closer and place my hand on Tet's shoulder. He tenses, back still turned to me — and for a few seconds, we both relish in the silence and the comfort of having another person to spend some time with, even if it has to be temporary. I'm not really planning on having another alliance, not after what happened with Michael, but that doesn't mean I can't take a few minutes to connect with this human-being in front of me.

We aren't just tributes. We're people. And I'm not… I'm not going to let the Capitol make me see them as anything different.

"It's okay," I mutter, closing my eyes. This is honestly the closest I've ever been to feeling at peace in this horrible place. "Well, it's not okay, but we can get through this. We don't have to entirely give up, even if you want to."

"I agree."

Time freezes. One moment, I'm holding onto Tet's shoulder, a content smile on my face. The next second, Tet is turning around, and I see the crazed look in his brown eyes. I scream, jumping back — but I'm far too slow to avoid the hammer in his hand from _slamming _into my head.

Pain erupts in my brain, violent and erratic and blinding. My entire body seems to lose its will to stand, as I fall straight to the wet ground and stay there. I can't move a single muscle; all I can do is lay there and stare up at Tet, eyes widened in absolute shock. The pain in my head is absolutely agonizing, and I absently note the blood pouring out of the wound.

_He tricked me._

Tears spring to my eyes and slide down my face, mixing in with the rain. Tet stands over me, his eyes widened in a way that's not sane. Not at all. Fear clutches my entire being, squeezing the ever-lasting life out of me — but then the pain comes back, hotter than before, and I _want _to scream but I just can't.

_I'm so stupid._

"I finally understand what I need to do," the maniacal boy says from above me, dropping the hammer and picking up a long piece of rope. A cold, terrifying sensation spreads across my body — and I instantly want to die, to just _die_, so that I don't have to suffer.

But it doesn't matter what I want. No, it never mattered what I wanted. I was always the tomboyish girl who didn't like wearing dresses, but my mom made me wear them anyway. I was always the quiet girl who didn't like talking to random people, but Mary made me associate with her friends anyway. I was always the girl who somehow thought the Hunger Games were something that would never affect me — and yet, here I am now, put in a position that I never wanted to be in.

It's not fair. It's not fair.

It's never fair.

Tet doesn't even crack a smile as he bends down to tie the rope around my body. "We're going to have a lot of fun, Ceres."

_SOMEBODY SAVE ME! _I internally scream, panic building up in my throat. The world starts to slowly darken, and tears leak out of my eyes like a faucet. _PLEASE… SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME..!_

But nobody comes, and I black out to the sound of wind and rain.

* * *

**Caio Artelle, 9th: Cloe… I'm sorry for sorta spoiling Caio's death that long time ago. I mean, you could never truly know if I was lying or not...but yeah. He's dead. It might be a surprise, it might not — but do know that I loved Caio so, so much. I truly did. In the Capitol, I admit that he was pretty confusing and hard to write, but he developed so much in the arena, and his journey was honestly one of my favorites. Seriously, I don't know how you personally feel about this guy, but I absolutely loved Caio with everything in me. Unfortunately, I couldn't develop him any further than this, and it was his time to go. :( May he rest in peace!**

* * *

**Author's Notes: WHA? A DOUBLE UPDATE?! Yeah, I just figured that since it was the anniversary today, it was appropriate. And not only that, but I do need to make up for lost time. I am NOT taking another year to finish this story! I needed a small break from fanfiction, but I'm back, and I feel better than ever! I'm going to finish this thing, and I'm going to be proud of myself! :)**

* * *

_**What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?**_

_**The Careers have you surrounded, tied up against a tree. You can't move a muscle. They all nonchalantly explain how they're going to take turns stabbing you to death. If you can, how do you think you would get out of this terrible situation? Or if you are destined to die here, what would be your last words?**_

* * *

**OKAY I'M GOING NOW. ITS FINALS WEEK, I'M STRESSED, BUT I'M BACK BABY!**


	30. The End

**So I had originally written something up here that I felt was pretty nice, but my computer wants to be a dumbass and delete everything. Yeah. So now I'm going to be blunt and say that I'm leaving fanfiction. I'm incapable of finishing a single story, which sucks. Like, really sucks. (If you want the full story, just head over to my profile, where I explain everything.) I'm not going to say that I'm leaving forever, but... Well, I just need to get my shit together. Because right now, I'm an undisciplined mess and I just can't continue the cycle of writing and losing interest 5 chapters later. **

**I'll be leaving this story up because I wrote a LOT for it, and it was almost complete, and it would have been cruel to leave you guys hanging. (And a little birdy messaged me a very...inspiring message, and I couldn't bring myself to delete this anymore.) So yeah. This is what would have happened if I had actually finished the story. Hopefully you guys enjoy, at least a little bit. **

* * *

_**Day Seven:**_

No Deaths.

* * *

_**Day Eight:**_

8th: Tet has been torturing Ceres for all of yesterday. She's growing weaker and weaker, and the more the torture goes on, the more she feels like just giving up. But Tet, in his crazed state, hasn't noticed the knife hidden in her pants. When the moment is right, Ceres gives it her all to shove the weapon right in the boy's chest. She doesn't stop stabbing, even when the cannon is blown and her vision starts to blur.

7th: Eventually, Ceres can do nothing more but just lay on the ground, agony going through every bone in her body. Isabel sees the girl and quickly puts her out of her misery, taking Tet's supplies as she does so.

6th: The tornado is raging and doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. Without any food, Eion doesn't have the strength to outrun it, and his cannon goes off as the wind tears through his body.

* * *

_**Day Nine:**_

_Aeliana Devrine cheerfully calls a Feast. The Games will most definitely be ending today._

5th: Isabel and Adeline meet each other before the Feast. Both of them are exhausted and are slowly losing their minds. The raging tornado in the background isn't helping. The both of them fight—but Adeline, being bigger and stronger, manages to stab Isabel in the eye.

4th: Adeline can't take the fact that she's turned into a murderer, a monster. Saying goodbye to all of her friends and family, she stabs herself in the heart.

3rd: The Finale commences. All three tributes are ready for the Games to end. None of them show it, but they're all just sick and tired. Unfortunately, Kostos more than the others. Terrance belittles the boy on volunteering to "solve the void in his heart," and Kostos realizes that killing kids won't solve his depression. Nothing will. He ends up filling the void with his own sword.

2nd: The final two. Kaya is angry and emotional. Terrance is on edge but keeps up a calm, almost haughty facade. When Kaya attacks, livid, Terrance realizes just why the girl got an 8 as her training score. He's strong, too, though, and the both of them fight for the longest time. Any mistake will cost them. And Terrance, blinded by the rain and wind, hesitates—which leaves him wide open for a stab through the chest. He doesn't go down without one last attack, though. One last opportunity. He slashes Kaya right in her left eye, blinding it.

1st: **Kaya Vause of District Eight, Victor of the Fifth Hunger Games.** Unfortunately, the Games not only took the vision out of her left eye, but also her burning spirit. Her plan was to win and break the Capitol from the inside, but the only one broken is herself.

* * *

**Congratulations to Kaya Vause, and congratulations to her submitter! She was my Victor since Day One, and I'm glad that I at least got to write a good chunk of her. :)**

**I'd also like to thank all of my readers, reviewers, and friends. You know who you are. I'm so very thankful for the support that you all give me, and I just hope that there may be something else for me in the future. In the far future. Right now, I need to find out what my problem is and fix it, but maybe...there will be something more from Jalen Kun? I don't know.**

**I guess I'm officially signing off. Hm. It doesn't feel like it. Maybe that's a good sign? Maybe it's not? Whatever. **

**Bai.**


End file.
